


To Protect & To Serve

by heyjupiter



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Police, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albuquerque beat cop Mike Ehrmantraut can't quite bring himself to arrest Jesse Pinkman for a failed attempt at solicitation. Instead, he takes him to Waffle House, lets him sleep on his couch, and helps him look for legitimate employment. Little does he know that the kid could turn out to be the key in the Heisenberg case, provided they can come to trust one another.</p><p>(A parallel universe exploring how some of the events of season 2 might have played out if a law-abiding adult had taken interest in Jesse's well-being.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loves_music17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_music17/gifts).



> This was born as a Blue Christmeth gift for loves_music17, who requested, "During Mike's time as a cop he pretended to be a John to arrest prostitutes but one night he meets Jesse who owes a lot of money to his drug dealer and is forced to sell his body. Mike can't help but feel protective of the kid and doesn't want to arrest him. He ends up buying Jesse's services instead. Perhaps some daddy kink thrown in as well." This... is not that story.
> 
> I originally posted the first chapter as a one-shot, but a few readers requested a follow-up and the story evolved into something else entirely.
> 
> Since completing the expanded version, I've re-tagged it in a way that's hopefully more indicative of the story as a whole. (Although I probably could have kept the "This is the least sexy prostitute AU ever" tag.) To be clear: this story contains talk of prostitution as a concept, but no depiction of any kind of sexual activities. 
> 
> Also, [epsee](http://epsee.tumblr.com/) made some fan art based on this story and it's SO CUTE I WANT TO DIE [so you should all definitely check that out!](http://epsee.tumblr.com/post/76772783381)

Mike hates this beat. He became a police officer to protect and to serve, and he doesn't think rounding up prostitutes is the best way to protect and serve the citizens of Albuquerque. If you asked him, a better use of resources would be to legalize sex work and let him help the people who actually ask to be helped. 

But nobody asked Mike, so every now and again he returns to the Crossroads Motel and makes a sweep of Wendy and her friends, women who've already been dealt a rough hand by life and don't really need Mike to remind them of it. Women who are unlikely to be "rehabilitated" by a few days in the county jail, but who accept it as the occasional cost of doing business.

Tonight, though, he just doesn't feel up to visiting the Crossroads. It's too depressing. Instead he drives downtown to the Ivory Swallow, a gay bar that attracts a lot of drag queens and rent boys. He could do with a change of scene. He pays his cover, gets an overpriced whiskey and Coke, and makes a small effort at pretending he doesn't hate the loud pop music. He's standing at the edge of the dance floor surveying the crowd when a skinny young guy in a tight T-shirt sidles up to him. The kid looks up at him in a terrible attempt at flirtatiousness; his huge blue eyes look more desperate and sad than come-hither. 

Mike fights back a sigh and manages a weak smile. The kid grins back. He still looks nervous, but his face lights up from even Mike's mild positive response. He mumbles something.

Mike shakes his head and says, "What?"

Louder, the kid says, "Uh, do you like to party?"

 _Shit,_ Mike thinks. Aloud he says, "Yeah." 

The kid swallows and licks his lips. He tentatively touches Mike's arm. Mike looks down and notices some kind of dumb tattoo on his wrist. He reaches out his other hand and traces it with his thumb. "Oh, yeah, you like my tat?" the kid asks with a genuine smile. 

"It's something," Mike says.

The kid looks down and admires it for a moment. Mike thinks it's supposed to be a scorpion. He doesn't notice any track marks. It doesn't mean he's not using anything, but it's a good sign that there might be some hope for this kid, poor taste in tattoos aside. The music changes, and the kid starts grinding up against Mike. 

Mike wishes he had a murder to solve or a burglary to stop. Hell, he'd take giving out traffic tickets--anything rather than endure this charade. He stands still and tries to keep his face neutral. Objectively, he could see where it would feel nice to have someone pressing their warm body against his; it's been a long time since Mike's wife left him, and he hasn't been much for casual dating since then. But he can't separate the physical sensations from his knowledge of what has to come next, and it robs Mike of any pleasure he might otherwise be able to take from the interaction.

Eventually, the kid notices Mike's non-response and asks, "What, you don't like this song?" He looks strangely hurt.

"This isn't really my scene."

"So, uh, you wanna get out of here?"

"Yeah, I think I do," Mike says. The kid bites his lip and lets Mike lead him outside. Mike ignores the bouncer's leering stare. Mike knows how this looks. He's dressed like a john, dressed like he has money. He's leaving with a kid who's gotta be half his age. He's just doing his job. As soon as the kid tries to ask for money for sex, Mike can arrest him for solicitation. 

"You got a name, kid?" he asks.

"Uh, Diesel."

Mike barely manages to keep a straight face at that. "I'm Mike," he says. He leads the kid to his car and gets in the drivers' seat. 

Diesel slides in next to him and says, "Yo, so, you wanna do it here, or go somewhere else?"

Mike looks sidelong at the kid and says, "Are you hungry?"

"Uh…"

"We could get a bite." He knows he's only delaying the inevitable, but the kid's so skinny. Mike feels like he should at least feed him before he arrests him. The holding cell isn't going to do him any favors. Besides, it's late, and Mike could use a coffee.

"Um, I'd kinda rather, um, just get this over with. Uh, no offense."

"Get what over with?" Mike asks.

"Oh, oh god," the kid says, and he sounds humiliated. "I thought you--I mean, I haven't done this before--but I just--I need the money. Um. For, like, a blowjob, or whatever."

Now's when Mike should read him his rights. Mission accomplished. But it's just too pathetic, even for this beat. "How much money do you need?"

"Um, my, uh, boss said it should be $50 for a BJ and $200 for, you know, if you fuck me."

"Who's your boss?" Mike asks. _That's_ who he wants to arrest.

"He, uh, he goes by Heisenberg."

"How much does he expect you to make tonight?"

"He said at least $500."

"What happens if you don't?"

"Uh. I just have to," the kid says miserably.

"Did he threaten you?" Mike asks, his voice stern.

"I… look, don't worry about it. But if you don't wanna, you know, then I should go."

Mike says, "I worry." He fishes out his badge and says, "I'm with the Albuquerque Police Department."

"Oh, shit," Diesel says. He tries for the door, but it's locked. It might be Diesel's first time, but it's not Mike's.

"No, look, calm down, kid, I don't want to arrest you. But I can arrest your pimp and help you get somewhere safe."

"No, he's not a pimp, he's just--never mind. It's not. It's just. Please let me go?"

Mike sighs. He should know better by now. It's better to stay with the devil you know than be a rat, no matter how bad your pimp is. He reaches in his wallet and counts out $500. He hands it to Diesel, unlocks the door, and says, "Don't let me see you out here again."

Diesel looks down at the cash, then back up at Mike, uncomprehending. "No, I-I can't."

"Didn't you say you needed $500 or you'd be in trouble with _Heisenberg_?"

"I…" Diesel swallows. "I don't want to take charity."

Mike wants to laugh at that, but the kid's face is so deadly earnest that he doesn't. He of all people can understand the desire to keep some kind of dignity or moral code when everything else in your life has fallen apart. Instead, he says, "Okay. I'll pay you $500 to get some dinner with me."

"What? Are you for real?"

Mike nods. "Is Waffle House okay?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Mike thinks about it for a moment and hands his badge to Diesel.

"Uh, yeah, I know you're a cop, but that doesn't explain shit."

"It says to protect and to serve, right? The way I see it, right now, you're the one who needs protecting."

Diesel bites his lip and hands the badge back. He slides the money in his pocket, crosses his arms over his chest, and says, "Yeah, Waffle House is great."

Mike nods and starts the car, heading for Waffle House. He goes to one near the interstate, not the one he usually goes to. Diesel nervously drums on the dashboard the whole way there. When they step out under one of the parking lot's street lights, Mike notices the kid is shivering in the desert night. Wordlessly, he opens the trunk, pulls out a windbreaker, and puts it over his shoulders.

"Are you my prom date now or something?" 

"You're a bit underdressed for Waffle House," Mike says drily.

Diesel blushes and shrugs the jacket on over his T-shirt, which in addition to being skin-tight, is made of such thin fabric it's nearly translucent. Mike can see a huge tattoo on his chest. He thinks it might be a lizard, or a dragon. Diesel zips up the jacket, ending Mike's attempt to interpret it. The kid's small build is swimming in Mike's jacket, but hopefully he'll be more comfortable in it. He'll definitely attract less attention.

Inside, Mike takes a corner booth and orders his usual--coffee and 2 eggs over easy with toast and hashbrowns. Diesel tries to order just coffee, but Mike says firmly, "You should eat," and he mumbles a request for a waffle and bacon. 

"We'll have that right up for you, hon," the waitress says.

In the bright light of the restaurant, Mike studies the kid's face. He's probably a little older than Mike had first thought, maybe early twenties. Not a teenager, but Mike can't stop thinking of him as a kid. His expression is so vulnerable. His red-rimmed eyes say he's been crying; his huge pupils say he's definitely been using something, though based on his demeanor, Mike thinks he's starting to come down. 

Mike wonders how long he'd been in the club trying to pick up a john. Diesel's technique was definitely lacking, but there are some guys who'd want that, who'd get off on his obvious naivete. There are some guys who wouldn't mind if he cried. There are some guys who'd _like_ it if he cried. Mike frowns, thinking of it. The kid notices that Mike's face has changed, and he flinches.

Mike reaches across the table and pats the kid's hand reassuringly, wondering at himself as he does it. He quickly retracts his hand, clears his throat and says, "So, _Diesel_ , what do you normally do for work?"

"Uh… I'm in sales." 

"Uh huh." Mike should have known better than to ask. This kid's probably fallen through the cracks somewhere, and Mike wonders if he even has any employable skills. Mike could help connect him with job skills training through the city, but even he knows those programs are hit or miss. And if he proposes it now, he'll just come across as some kind of clueless afterschool special.

Diesel shrugs, obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning. He asks, "How long have you been a cop?"

"Probably since before you were born."

"You do this kinda thing a lot?" he asks, tilting his head to indicate the restaurant, the whole stupid situation.

"Not really, no," Mike says ruefully.

"I'm just _that_ pathetic?"

Mike grins. "It's like I said before, kid." He pauses while the waitress pours their coffee and promises to be right back with their food, and then says, "Just didn't seem like I'd be doing any favors for you or the people of Albuquerque by bringing you into the station tonight."

"Well, thanks, I guess," Diesel says, liberally pouring sugar into his coffee. Mike drinks his black, savoring the slightly burnt flavor.

"Don't mention it." He means it literally; he could be fired for what he's doing right now.

The kid nods. They regard each other for a long moment, which is finally interrupted by the arrival of their food. They eat quietly. The kid keeps glancing furtively at Mike, like a trapped animal. Mike pretends not to notice. 

After Diesel's plate is empty, he looks up and mumbles, "Um, my name's not really Diesel."

"What a surprise."

The kid fidgets and says, "It's Jesse."

Mike nods. "I'm still Mike."

"I-I know. You showed me your badge."

Mike pays the bill, and he and Jesse go back out to the car. Before he starts it, he hands a business card to Jesse and says, "Kid, if you run into any kind of trouble, or you ever decide you want to help make a case against your pimp, you give me a call."

"He's not a pimp!"

"If you say so."

"I swear to God, it's not like that."

Mike shrugs and starts the car. He knows it takes time to build rapport with victims. "Where do you want me to drop you off, Jesse?"

"Um." Jesse's quiet for a long moment. He sucks in a breath and says, "Would--could I stay with you tonight?" His breath hitches and he immediately adds, "No, god, forget it, I… just… um, could you please drop me off at the Crossroads Motel?"

Mike really wishes Jesse hadn't said that. He sighs and says, "You can stay at my place tonight."

Jesse sniffs. "Really?"

"Yeah. On the couch," Mike says firmly.

"Oh, god, thank you. That would be." He exhales loudly and continues, "Yeah, I swear I'll be out of your hair tomorrow, I--I just need to get--get some stuff together, you know?"

"Sure, kid." Mike figures maybe tomorrow he can tail Jesse back to wherever he goes and start to build a case against this Heisenberg guy. From the sounds of it, that's who the vice squad needs to be focusing on, not these street-level kids. Tomorrow. 

Tonight, at least Mike's getting one kid off the street, and he'll call that a win.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really only intended for this to be a one-shot, but uhh a few people asked for more and then this happened?

"Here, kid," Mike says, handing Jesse a pillow and a brightly-colored floral fleece blanket.

"Thank you, this is… this is great," Jesse says. He fidgets with the blanket's fringe.

"My granddaughter made that blanket," Mike says, and Jesse figures his face must have given away his surprise at a guy like Mike having a blanket like this. Jesse has been told over and over again that he has a terrible poker face, but he doesn't know what to do about it.

"Oh. It's… it's really nice," he says.

"Yeah. Well. The bathroom's around the corner," Mike says, tilting his head toward it. "Try not to get into any trouble, all right? I'm going to bed."

Jesse swallows. "Yeah, no, I won't. Um. Thanks again." 

Mike nods once and retreats down the hallway, leaving Jesse alone in the living room. 

Jesse can't believe he went home with a cop. But then, he can't believe Mr. White tried to pimp him out, either.

He puts down the pillow and stretches out on Mike's couch, weighing his options. He still has the $500 Mike gave him. The smart thing to do, Jesse figures, would be to slip out early, before Mike gets up and changes his mind about paying a rent boy to eat waffles with him. Then he can give the money to Mr. White, and by then maybe he'll have calmed down about the stolen meth, and maybe they can go back to how things used to be. 

Yeah, that's definitely what he'll do, he decides. Then he pulls the fleece blanket Mike had given him up to his chin and falls asleep almost immediately.

He sleeps restlessly and wakes up a few hours later. He always gets such shitty sleep when he's coming down from crank. Usually, it's annoying, but this morning, it's perfect. He digs in his pocket and checks his phone. It's 3:32am and he has 10 missed calls and 4 voicemails from Mr. White. He'll listen to those later. He still has his cash, and he still has Mike's card. He puts everything back into his pockets. 

It briefly occurs to him that he could maybe steal something and pawn it, to get a little extra cash, but he decides against it. For one, this guy's a cop, and he might have cameras or something. And anyway, it just feels wrong. Mike helped Jesse for no good reason. It would be shitty to repay that by stealing from him, like, karmically speaking. He folds up the blanket and puts it back on the couch. He thinks maybe he should leave a note to say thank you, but he doesn't have any paper or anything. 

He slips out the door, walks down Mike's driveway, and realizes he has no clue where he is. He wasn't really paying attention when Mike drove them home last night, plus it's still fucking dark out. And cold. He'd left Mike's jacket inside, too. He shivers and listens to his voicemails. The first one says, "Jesse, I… may have overreacted. Why don't you just come over and we'll talk about it?"

The next one is, "Jesse, call me back right now."

Then, "Jesse! I'm… concerned that you haven't returned my calls."

Finally, "Jesse, you're being very immature right now, even for you."

Jesse sighs and puts his phone back in his pocket. Is he really going to go back to working with that asshole? Does he have any other choice? His hand brushes against the money, the business card. Mike had said he'd help Jesse arrest Mr. White, but maybe that was just because he thought Mr. White was a pimp and Jesse was some poor abused kid. If he knew the truth, about the meth and stuff, he probably wouldn't be so nice to Jesse.

He pulls a cigarette out of his other pocket and lights it. Maybe the nicotine will help him think about this a little more clearly. His parents took Aunt Ginny's house away from him, so he's homeless. Those d-bag cops confiscated all his cash, so he's broke. And Mr. White… 

Jesse exhales. His face flushes as he remembers Mr. White screaming, "I don't care how you get the money, but you owe me, Jesse. You're obviously not cut out for this business, so why don't you just go sell your ass on the street? That's probably the only way you'll be able to make money from now on."

Mr. White had looked fucking scary, nothing at all like how Jesse remembered him from chemistry class. And Jesse had been desperate, so he'd said, "God, fine, whatever," like it was no big deal, and then he'd gone to Wendy to ask her for advice. Because Mr. White was right, he had no idea what else he was supposed to do for money.

Wendy had told him how to dress and where to go and how much to charge. She'd said, "It's not so bad, if you get fucked up before."

But she hadn't mentioned what to do if an undercover cop took you to dinner and then let you sleep on his couch.

Jesse pulls out his phone again and scrolls through his contacts. There's gotta be somebody he can call. Badger… no, on parole. Combo… dead, and Jesse should really just delete him from his phone already. Mom… no way, she's the one who's responsible for Jesse's current homelessness. Saul… no, Jesse can't pay Saul, and he knows his lawyer won't do anything for free. Skinny Pete… maybe, except his roommates don't like Jesse. Mr. White…. no. Yellow Cab… maybe, but where would he take the cab to? Jesse supposes he could live in his car for awhile. It's still parked downtown, near the Ivory Swallow.

While he's staring at his phone, it buzzes with another call from Mr. White. Jesse sighs and picks it up. He musters as much bravado as he can and says, "Don't worry, I got your money."

"Jesse," Mr. White hisses. Jesse wonders where he is, how he's hiding this call from his wife. "Jesse, I didn't--"

"Where do you want me to bring it for you?"

"Jesse, are you alright?"

"Never better, bitch. How about if I come by the school parking lot after classes let out?"

"That would be… fine, Jesse," Mr. White says. He sounds tired. It's past his usual bedtime. Jesse hangs up the phone, which is a little bit satisfying, although it still doesn't solve the question of where he's gonna go. It's cold as balls out. He sits down on the curb and hugs his knees. There has to be some way out of this, he thinks, staring at his phone again. 

He hears footsteps approaching and turns to see Mike, dressed in sweatpants and a gray APD T-shirt. He's holding something, and as he gets closer, Jesse realizes it's a hoodie. He hands it to Jesse and says, "Whatever you're doing, you shouldn't freeze to death."

Jesse swallows and whispers, "Thanks." He tugs it over his head.

"So. Going somewhere?" Mike asks.

To his shame, Jesse feels his eyes well up with tears. "I… I don't know."

"Hmm," Mike says. He sits down next to Jesse. "Still pretty early, you know. You could get a few more hours of sleep and decide in the morning."

"I just…"

"I promise you this, kid, whoever you're afraid of isn't gonna find you here. You're safe."

Hearing that, Jesse's tears turn into a full-on sob. He covers his face with his hands, and after a moment, he feels Mike squeeze his shoulder. "Why don't you come back inside, kid?"

Jesse catches his breath and says, "I can't help you."

"What?"

"I can't help you, I can't--I can't testify against anybody, or whatever. I…" he sniffs and wipes his face on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and then immediately remembers that it's not his. "Sorry."

"Nobody's testifying against anybody right now. Okay?"

"But… I can't help you. You don't have to be the nice cop, or whatever. It won't do you any good."

Mike clucks his tongue. "I didn't become a cop to arrest people. I became a cop to help people." Jesse's quiet for a long moment, and Mike adds, "Sometimes people help each other just because they can, Jesse."

Jesse snorts. "Yeah? How's that work out for people?"

"Well, I sleep okay at night. Most nights, anyway."

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up. I-I didn't want…."

"Shh, kid, it's okay. Now, c'mon," he says, rolling to his feet more gracefully than Jesse would have expected for a dude his age. He offers a hand to Jesse, and he takes it and follows Mike back inside his house.

Inside, Mike regards the couch with its neatly folded blanket and looks at Jesse with a weird, sad expression. "Get some sleep, Jesse. Things will look better in the morning."

Jesse looks at him skeptically, and Mike says, "Well, they won't be any worse," and Jesse supposes that's probably true at this point in time.


	3. Chapter 3

Mike wakes up a little after 7. He takes a piss and then goes to check on the young prostitute he'd let sleep over the night before. It seems like Jesse's still asleep, curled into the fetal position. Mike's relieved the kid hadn't tried to leave on foot. He doesn't think that would have ended well. He makes a pot of coffee and settles in at the kitchen table with yesterday's crossword puzzle, positioned where he can clearly see into the living room. He's made a lot of headway on the puzzle by the time Jesse sits up and looks around with a dazed expression on his face. 

"Good morning," Mike calls.

Jesse cringes and says, "Um, hey."

"You want some coffee?"

"Uh, yeah, that'd be great. Thanks." Mike grabs the first clean mug on the shelf and fills it. It's not until he slides it across the table that he notices he's giving Jesse his "World's Best Grandpa" mug. He says, "Sorry, I don't think I have any sugar. There's milk in the fridge if you want."

"This is fine," Jesse says. He smiles at the mug and winces at the taste of black coffee, but drinks it anyway. 

Mike finds that he is charmed by this polite, sad little criminal, and he offers him a bowl of Cheerios.

"Aw, yeah, I haven't had Cheerios in forever!" Jesse says enthusiastically.

"They're good for your cholesterol."

"Yeah, that's what they say in the commercials." Jesse eats his cereal quickly and then, without asking, washes both of their dishes. He returns to the table, sipping his coffee and avoiding eye contact with Mike.

Mike says, "Kid, I gotta talk to you about your options."

Jesse looks at him then, blue eyes wide with fear. "My options?"

Mike nods. "I don't need to know the details, but it's obvious you're in a tight spot. I've got some connections around town. I can take you to a shelter or a halfway house, if you need. I can help you get enrolled with the Homeless to Work program. I can help you find a GED class."

"I graduated from high school, yo," Jesse interjects. He sounds offended. 

"Good for you. There's community college, too."

"Uh, school's not really my thing. Overall."

Mike shrugs. "Fair enough. The point is, Jesse, I let you off the hook last night, because it seemed like you could use a break. But I can't make a habit of it, not if I want to keep my job. Which I do. So I want to do everything I can to make sure that I can keep my job without having to arrest you tomorrow night."

"Why do you care?"

"Maybe I just don't like to see kids throwing their lives away."

Jesse looks unconvinced. Mike sighs. He supposes Jesse's probably heard people say things like that before without meaning them. He says, "I guess you remind me of my son."

"Oh, your son's a huge fuck-up? Uh… sorry," Jesse says, biting his lip.

"No, he's not, but he… went through a rough patch. He could have used some help. More help than he got," Mike says, and it's not at all hard to inject a little regret into his tone.

"Oh." Jesse nods. He looks a little more relaxed now. Mike understands that it's easier to grasp self-interested motivation than to believe in idealism. "So, like, what happened to your son?"

"He lives in town now. Works as a contractor. Raises my granddaughter," Mike says, nodding at Jesse's mug.

"So, what, you fucked your kid up and now you're trying to like, make it up by helping other fucked up kids?"

"Something like that," Mike says, refusing to be riled. Of course it's more complicated than that, but Jesse's not too far off base, and it seems like an answer he's willing to accept. The truest reason for why he wants to help Jesse is that over the years, Mike has learned to trust his gut, and his gut tells him that Jesse's a good kid who could use a break right now. It's as simple and stupid as that.

"So what do you want to do, Jesse?"

Jesse's face crumples and he says, "I don't know. It's, like… complicated."

"Pretty much everything is."

"It's--I'm not homeless, exactly, I mean, it's more like a misunderstanding."

"Uh huh. And is that misunderstanding likely to be resolved soon?"

"I… maybe."

"Uh huh. Well, look, I'm going to go get dressed. You should think about what you want to do next, and choose carefully."

"Okay."

"You can finish the crossword puzzle if you get bored."

"Um, thanks."

Mike showers and dresses quickly. Then he puts together a clean towel, a T-shirt from last year's Police Fun Run, and a still-wrapped toothbrush from his dentist's office and presents them to Jesse, who's staring blankly at the crossword puzzle. 

"You can get yourself cleaned up if you want," he says.

Jesse takes the bundle from Mike and says, "Thanks, that's really… thanks." Mike's pretty sure the kid's eyes are filled with tears again. He has no idea how Jesse has made it as any kind of criminal, not with his heart fixed so firmly to his sleeve. 

Mike waves him off and returns to his crossword while Jesse showers. He notices Jesse had filled in exactly one clue: 9 across, solution that conducts electricity, "electrolyte." 

Jesse emerges from the shower with damp hair and a more guarded expression. Without preamble, he says, "Do you really think I could get a job? Like, a real one?"

Mike keeps the surprise off his face and says, "Sure. I said I'd help you."

Jesse bites his lip and he says, "Just, like, a friend of mine, he was on parole so he had to take whatever job, and he had to dress like a big dollar bill and dance around in the street."

"Hmm," Mike says, knowing it's not the time to tell Jesse about how shitty the economy is. He suspects Jesse already knows. "Well, what kind of job are you thinking of?"

"I dunno," Jesse says. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt and says, "I'm kinda… I mean, I like doing stuff with my hands."

"Like construction?"

"Um, yeah, I could do that, maybe? But I don't have like, any experience or anything."

"Jesse, have you heard of the Work Opportunity Tax Credit?"

"I don't know shit about taxes or anything."

"Well, basically, it's a program where businesses can get a tax credit for hiring… the less fortunate. So it provides financial incentive for an employer to overlook certain gaps in your resume, for example."

"Less fortunate?"

"Vets, the disabled… the homeless."

"Oh," Jesse says softly. Mike notes that he doesn't bother to deny being homeless this time. "I never heard of that."

"Well, now you have."

"Yeah."

"To be eligible, you're gonna need a bit of a paper trail. How about if we get that started for you today?"

Jesse rubs the back of his neck with one hand and says, "Um. Don't you like, have to go to work?"

"I work second shift. And this is part of my job, Jesse."

"Is it, um, what if I have, like, a criminal record, though?"

"You're still eligible. Unless you violate parole."

Jesse bites his lip. His anxiety is palpable, and Mike says, "Kid, I'm not going to pretend like this will be all sunshine and rainbows. But I've got a good hunch that you'll like it more than whatever you've been doing."

"I don't know," Jesse says, and Mike remembers abruptly what the kid had said last night, about not wanting charity.

He says, "You know, if you've ever paid taxes in the past, you've paid into these programs, Jesse. They're supposed to be a safety net, for whoever needs a helping hand. They're not forever."

"Okay… yeah, okay, let's… I mean, if you don't mind?"

Mike smiles. "I don't mind at all, Jesse." He calls in a favor with Tania, a social worker he's known for years, and she kindly but efficiently talks to Jesse about SNAP benefits and job training. Mike excuses himself to give Jesse some privacy while she interviews him for his file.

Finally, Jesse emerges into the waiting area with a file folder and a confused expression. 

"Everything okay, Jesse?"

"She was really nice," Jesse says. He sounds dazed. 

"Tania's a very nice person."

"Yeah, so… yeah. I, um, I have an appointment on Monday. With a job counselor?"

"That's great."

"I, um. Thank you, Mike."

"You're welcome."

"Um, Tania said you said to just put your address? On the forms?"

Mike nods. "If you want, you can stay with me. Just until you get back on your feet."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Mike knows this is a stupid thing to offer, but again, his gut tells him it's the right thing to do. Mike knows Albuquerque's homeless shelters are perfectly serviceable, but he doesn't think they're the best place for a kid like Jesse, not in the state he's in.

"That's really… thanks."

Mike nods. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

"Okay. Um. I kind of have to take care of something."

"I hope it goes without saying that I don't allow any illegal substances in my home?"

"What? No, it's… it's not that. I just need to get back to my car. And drop something off. A-and you probably need to go to work anyway, right?"

"Sure." Mike drops Jesse off at his car and says, "Give me a call when you're done. And take care of yourself, kid."

"Yeah. Thanks again."

Mike watches Jesse get into his car, which has clearly seen better days, and check his voicemail. Jesse's face falls. He angrily snaps the phone shut and speeds off. 

Mike sets about discreetly tailing him. He wants to know who the kid's so afraid of, who the kid is giving Mike's money to. He doesn't think it'll be that hard to find out, and he doubts it'll be hard to arrest whoever it is, even if Jesse's unwilling to make any statements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD YOU GUYS epsee made some really really cute art of this chapter and you should absolutely [go look at it right now](http://epsee.tumblr.com/post/76772783381)!!
> 
>  
> 
> As this progresses it only gets farther from the original prompt, which for the record was, "During Mike's time as a cop he pretended to be a John to arrest prostitutes but one night he meets Jesse who owes a lot of money to his drug dealer and is forced to sell his body. Mike can't help but feel protective of the kid and doesn't want to arrest him. He ends up buying Jesse's services instead. Perhaps some daddy kink thrown in as well."
> 
> So... yeah. Less daddy kink, more... actual fatherly feelings? Ah well, what can you do? Maybe someone else can fill this with a ~sexy version~.


	4. Chapter 4

Jesse has a sick feeling in his stomach and a voice in his head telling him this is too good to be true. Why should a guy like Mike give a fuck about Jesse? Or that social worker Tania? It has to be some kind of trick. 

He pulls into a spot toward the back of the J. P. Wynne parking lot, where Mr. White had said to meet him. He's early, so he flips through the information Tania had given him. It all looks so official. He knows he never would have figured out how to fill out all those forms without help.

Jesse had felt bad about applying for food stamps, but both Mike and Tania had assured him that it was a good step, and only temporary. He supposes it's better than selling crystal, like, karmically speaking. It's definitely better than trying to sell his ass on the street. And Tania had made it sound like maybe Jesse could actually get a job. It's not like Jesse's really ever tried that hard to get a job before, not when crystal made for such easy money. But it might be nice to have a job where he doesn't have to dispose of dead bodies in fucking acid, or where his friends don't get shot. He could have that kind of life, couldn't he?

He'll have to stay clean, but he can totally do that, at least for a while. It's not like he's a junkie. He just _likes_ using. Like, right now, he knows a blunt would calm his mind, but even if he had any weed, he knows smoking anything on school property is a pretty dumb idea when he's trying to lie low. 

He plugs his phone into charge and checks it again. Mr. White is late. Normally Jesse wouldn't be anxious to see his former teacher, but he really wants to get this over with. Jesse puts his social services information in the backseat and plays Snake on his phone until Mr. White finally slides in next to him.

Jesse reaches in his pocket and hands him the cash. "Here. Now we're even," he says. He doesn't look up from his phone, but he still loses a life.

"Jesse, I didn't mean for you to--"

"We're done, Mr. White," Jesse says, starting the game over.

"Jesse, I'm sorry, but you were being reckless, and--"

"I said we're done, Mr. White. We're square, and I got nothing else to say to you," Jesse says, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady.

"Look, Jesse, I've been thinking about what you said, and--"

"Seriously, Mr. White. We're done. You can just go back to your old life without having to worry about some useless junkie ruining things for you."

"All right, Jesse," Mr. White says. "If that's what you want. No hard feelings, I hope?"

Jesse finally looks up from his phone and glares at him. "Get out of my car."

Mr. White sighs heavily, as if Jesse is being very difficult. "Goodbye, then," he says. "Don't come crying to me the next time you're in a jam."

As if it had done Jesse any good the last time he'd gone crying to Mr. White. He waits until he's sure Mr. White has left, and then he starts his car and leaves the school. He'd thought it would be more satisfying to tell off Mr. White, but he still has that sick feeling in his stomach. A joint would definitely help him relax, but now that he's paid Mr. White, he has neither drugs nor money. And besides, he's totally trying out the whole "law-abiding citizen" thing. 

Mike had said to call him when he was done, but Jesse knows Mike has to work and he doesn't want to bug him right away. He drives to a park and hangs out on a bench for a while. A guy he knows from high school approaches him and says, "Yo, Jesse."

"Hey man, what's up?"

"Yo, uh, you cool?"

Jesse shakes his head. "Sorry."

"Really? I heard Badger got some choice product from you."

"Not anymore."

"All right, all right. See you around, then," he says, and wanders off muttering something under his breath.

Jesse looks around nervously, even though he hadn't done anything wrong. He notices a cast-off newspaper on another bench and picks it up. He flips through it, but it's really not that interesting. Is being a respectable citizen always so boring, he wonders, when his phone buzzes. Mr. White is calling, and Jesse takes pleasure in ignoring it. A moment later, it buzzes again with a voicemail, and Jesse reluctantly listens to it. 

"Jesse? A police officer just came to my home and asked me some questions. About you. I don't think he has--I don't suppose you know anything about this, do you? Because--no matter what happened between us, I would hope that you would think about my family, Jesse, before you do anything drastic."

Jesse flips his phone shut and ignores it when it starts to ring again. Had Mike followed him? Was Mike just using Jesse to get to Mr. White? That makes sense, but… but Jesse had started to let himself believe that Mike actually cared about Jesse. All that stuff about his son and everything, had it been just an act?

His phone vibrates with a voicemail from an unknown number. He listens to it and hears, "Jesse. It's Mike. Just calling to see how you're doing. Give me a call back when you get a chance."

Jesse stares at his phone for a long moment. He's pretty sure Mr. White doesn't really give a shit about him, but at least they've been through some stuff together. Mr. White had once threatened to turn Jesse over to his DEA agent brother-in-law, but Jesse's pretty sure Mr. White can't really blackmail him anymore, not when Mr. White's done even worse stuff than Jesse has. 

On the other hand, Jesse's only known Mike for a day, but he's only been kind to Jesse. But.. maybe it is just that whole "good cop" thing, trying to get Jesse to give him information. 

Jesse wishes he could ask someone for advice. He knows what Mr. White would say, obviously--that Mike's only using Jesse to get to him, that there's no way Mike would really want to help Jesse. He could maybe call Saul Goodman. Jesse knows Saul has helped friends of his, and he has Saul's number in his phone just in case, but he also knows Saul doesn't work for free. He could ask Badger or Skinny Pete, but he doubts they'd have any good ideas. His parents… no, his parents wouldn't help him. Jesse has to figure this out on his own.

Jesse knows it's stupid how much he wants to believe that Mike actually wants to help him. He also knows nobody ever accused him of being smart, and he hits "call back."

Mike answers on the second ring and says, "Jesse, are you all right?" His gruff voice sounds concerned, but maybe Jesse's just reading too much into it.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay. Good. Where are you?"

"Um. I'm at Guadalupe Park?"

"And you're safe there?"

"Uh, yeah, totally."

"Good. Okay, why don't you just hang tight there for a bit, and I'll come by and meet you soon?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Not like I have anything else to do."

Mike lets out a snort of laughter and says, "All right, Jesse. Try and stay out of trouble."

"Yeah, no problem." 

Mike hangs up, leaving Jesse alone with his thoughts again. He ignores another call from Mr. White and tries to read the newspaper, but it's hard to focus. He doesn't want to go back to working with Mr. White. But it sounds like the dude doesn't have that much time left, and it would suck for him to spend it in jail. Anyway, Jesse's not a snitch. But how much does Mike already know? Can Jesse lie to him?

It's too much for Jesse to have to decide. He tries to convince himself that maybe he won't have to. Maybe this is all just a coincidence, and it was some other cop who was asking Mr. White questions. 

Jesse sighs. He knows the odds of it being some other cop are about the same as the odds of TwaüghtHammër winning a Grammy. He sets aside the paper and goes back to playing Snake, hoping some kind of solution will miraculously present itself to Jesse before Mike gets there.


	5. Chapter 5

After returning to the police station, Mike approaches a friend standing at the coffee pot and says, "Hey, Perez, how's that Heisenberg case going?" 

Last night, when Jesse said his boss went by "Heisenberg," Mike had known the name sounded familiar. He'd thought it might have just been because of the scientist, but today it clicked where else he'd heard it lately. 

Perez rolls his eyes. "A whole lot of nothing. The DEA's taking point on it, which is fine. I've got a million things to do besides chase down some mythical drug lord."

"Mythical?"

"I mean, you know, what are the odds that some super pure producer sprouts up here, in Albuquerque? I think it's probably a misdirect, just the Mexican cartel shaking up their distribution a bit. The guys at the DEA are kind of obsessed with him, though. Why, did one of your hookers offer you some of the _other_ blue stuff last night?"

"Very funny," Mike says. He used to work with Perez on the drug task force, and Perez knows how much Mike hates working the prostitution beat. "Nah, I just heard some stuff in passing, wondered how it was going."

"Well, like I said, it's not great. But I'll get Tracey to make you a copy of the file, let you see what we've got at the moment. If you hear anything useful from any of your usual suspects, let me know. Or, hey, y'know, if you get any leads on a unicorn thief or Bigfoot poacher. I'll take what I can get."

"You got it," Mike says, taking his styrofoam cup with a nod.

Shortly thereafter, Tracey stops by Mike's desk with a copy of the Heisenberg file. He flips through it and shakes his head to himself. Jesse _had_ said Heisenberg wasn't a pimp, but Mike had assumed the kid was just embarrassed, or maybe in denial.  
Law enforcement has been looking for the guy for months, and Mike's pretty sure he just followed him from a high school parking lot to a nice suburban home.

It hadn't been Mike's best police work, but after he watched the guy leave from his meeting with Jesse, Mike called in his license plate and learned his name was Walter White. Then Mike followed him home, flashed his badge and asked the guy if he knew Jesse Pinkman, and when the last time he saw him was. Walter had said that Jesse was a former student of his, and that he hadn't seen him in years. Rather than ask about the lie, Mike had thanked him for his time, asked him to please call if he did hear anything about Jesse, and returned to the station. 

Now at his desk, Mike calls to check on Jesse. The kid sounds nervous, but okay, and agrees to wait where he is. Mike figures he has time to do a little more research before meeting up with him. Mike reads the Heisenberg file more closely and tries to make sense of it. Their kingpin, with an extremely pure product and a handful of presumed murders to his name, is a nerdy-looking high school teacher? 

But then, it does make a certain amount of sense. He's a high school _chemistry_ teacher, for one, which could explain the high chemical purity of the blue meth. And equipment had been stolen from the chem lab of his school. The man's unassuming physical appearance should mean nothing; some of the scariest monsters in recent history had been nerdy-looking white men. Jeffrey Dahmer or Ted Kaczynski, for example, didn't look all that different from Walter White. (Of course, Mike's head reminds him that the same is true of Jesse--just because the kid looks like a lost puppy doesn't mean _he's_ not Heisenberg. But Mike's gut rejects that proposal outright.)

Mike pulls up Jesse Pinkman's criminal record and finds a few drug-related misdemeanors, but nothing at Heisenberg's level. And nothing for soliciting, either. He suspects Jesse had been telling the truth about last night being his first attempt at that.

But why? What's the connection between him and Walter White/Heisenberg? From observing their meeting in the parking lot, Mike would say that they definitely know each other better than what Walter had said. Jesse had seemed nervous, but also angry. He'd given the money over but as far as Mike had seen, had gotten nothing in return. 

As best Mike can figure, Jesse's a dealer on the outs with his distributor. He could be an invaluable witness, if Mike could convince him to testify. He knows he's going to have to take it easy with that, though. Jesse's skittish, and if he bolts it wouldn't just be bad for the Heisenberg investigation, it would also be bad for Jesse personally. Mike genuinely wants to help the kid turn his life around, and he hopes he can do so without compromising his police work. Letting an awkward attempt at solicitation slide was one thing, but sitting on evidence about a bigtime meth distributor? That would be another thing altogether. 

Mike knows he doesn't have all the information he needs yet, so he puts the file in his drawer and goes to meet Jesse. The kid's right where he said he would be, sitting on a bench in Guadalupe Park with his head bent over his phone. He's intently focused on the screen, and at first he doesn't notice Mike's approach. Then Mike sits down next to him, and Jesse glances over, at first with a surprised look on his face that shifts to a shy smile.

"Hey," Jesse says. He flips his phone shut and Mike realizes he'd been playing a game. From his file, Mike learned that Jesse's 24, but he still seems younger. 

"How are you doing?"

"Fine?"

"You hungry?"

Jesse shrugs. Mike says, "Well, it's about time for me to take my supper break, so why don't we go back to my house and I'll make some sandwiches?"

"Um, yeah, okay." Jesse has the guarded demeanor of someone waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he follows Mike back to his house and quietly sets the table while Mike makes pimento cheese sandwiches. 

Mike thanks him and Jesse shrugs and says, "Yeah, no problem," but he looks quietly pleased with himself.

Mike puts a sandwich on each of their plates, abruptly conscious of the fact that he doesn't have much food in the house. He'll stock up on cookies and juice if Kaylee's coming to visit, but other than that, he very much lives a bachelor lifestyle. If his wife were there, she'd have fretted about not having a salad or something to go for their guest.

But she left him years ago, and anyway, he supposes Jesse isn't too picky. 

"Did you take care of whatever you needed to do today?" he asks.

Jesse swallows nervously and says, "Um, yeah, all taken care of. Thanks." He drops his eyes to his plate and starts shredding his sandwich with his fingers.

"What, you don't like the crusts?"

"Uh, no. Just. Not that hungry."

"Hmm. How do you feel?" Mike sees that the kid's hands are shaking a bit. He'd obviously been using something yesterday--well, probably meth, given everything Mike knows now--and hopefully hadn't been today. What Mike doesn't know yet is how much Jesse normally uses, and what kind of withdrawal he might be facing. It's probably not going to be pretty, but so far, Mike's seen much worse than this.

Jesse shrugs. "Just… tired, I guess."

"Make sure you drink some water."

"Okay..."

Mike doesn't press Jesse any further about what he'd been up to, and after a few moments of silence, Jesse starts looking a little more relaxed and eats a few bites of his mutilated sandwich. Mike eats his sandwich efficiently and rises from the table as soon as he finishes.

"Kid, I've got to get back to work. Why don't you just stay here and get some rest?"

Jesse looks up and says, "Are you sure?"

Mike shrugs. "If you were gonna steal anything from me, you could have done it already."

Jesse half-smiles and says, "I guess that's true."

"I'll probably be back around eleven, maybe later if something comes up. You can give me a call if you need anything. Help yourself to food, if you get hungry later."

"Thanks."

The naked gratitude on Jesse's face makes Mike feel uncomfortable, so he turns to leave the kitchen before he replies, "No problem. Take care."

The rest of Mike's Friday night is business as usual. He picks up Lilac, a repeat offender, and brings her down to the station. He feels like a hypocrite as he fills out the requisite paperwork, but he didn't write the laws. Anyway, he only has one couch.

When he gets home, he discovers Jesse Pinkman asleep on that couch, with the Discovery Channel still showing a Mythbusters marathon. Mike puts a blanket over him and turns off the TV. Then he retreats to his own bed, where he lies awake, trying to figure out a way to protect Jesse and still serve the people of Albuquerque.


	6. Chapter 6

Jesse wakes up feeling like shit. His muscles hurt, his mouth is dry, and he still feels tired, even though a quick look at the clock tells him he's been asleep for eleven hours. He sits up and looks around, unused to waking up in Mike's living room.

From the kitchen, Mike calls, with his dry, gravelly voice, "Good morning, sunshine."

"Uh. Hey. Sorry I slept so late," Jesse says, smoothing his hair self-consciously. His parents always hated it when Jesse slept in, talked about him wasting the day away. Jesse had tried to argue that he had more waking hours during the night time this way, but his parents didn't seem to think that hanging out with his friends was a particularly productive use of those waking hours.

"Figured you could use the sleep," Mike says. 

"Uh, yeah, guess so." Jesse folds up the blanket and joins Mike in the kitchen. "Can I get some water?"

"Of course. Help yourself. There's coffee and cereal too, if you want."

Jesse quietly busies himself with getting breakfast for himself. He feels hungrier than he has in awhile, and ends up eating two bowls of Cheerios. Mike sits with him, just quietly working on his crossword puzzle. He doesn't seem mad, though. Just quiet. Normally Jesse feels compelled to fill silences with chatter, but this morning he doesn't feel much like talking. Even though he's hungry, he feels like throwing up, which he thinks probably has more to do with guilt than with coming down from meth. He still has no idea what he's going to do about Mr. White.

As Jesse washes his dishes in the sink, he realizes he has no idea what he's going to do today. On Monday he's supposed to meet with the government job counselor, but he doesn't have any plans for the weekend. He knows he has to stay clean, if he's gonna stay with Mike. And Jesse has to admit that he does want to stay with Mike--it's certainly the best of any of his available options.

But Jesse figures Mike's probably going to get sick of Jesse before too long, and anyway, what are they supposed to do? Mike's older than Jesse's dad. Jesse tries to remember the last time he hung out with his dad for a whole weekend. It must have been when Jesse was 14, his dad had taken him on a father-son camping trip, but his dad got mad when they couldn't get a fire started, and Jesse had given suggestions from TV, like rubbing two sticks together or using a magnifying glass, and his dad had yelled at Jesse to just be quiet for one goddamn minute. They'd never gone camping again.

After Jesse finishes with his dishes, he stands at the sink for a moment, trying to figure out what he should do. Maybe take a walk? That would get him out of Mike's way for awhile.

Mike says, "I need to leave in about an hour. I'm taking my granddaughter to the harvest festival."

"Oh… cool. Well, do you want me to do anything while you're gone? I can help out with, uh… stuff."

"Why don't you come with us?"

"Oh, no, um, thanks, though."

"There's a pumpkin patch."

"Um…"

"You don't like pumpkins?"

"Pumpkins are fine, I just…"

"I know it might not be the most exciting way to spend the afternoon, but I think the fresh air will do you good. Go get dressed," Mike says, and now it doesn't sound like a suggestion.

"No, it's not that I don't want to, it's just…"

"Just what?"

Jesse blurts out, "I--my parents don't even let me spend time with my own brother, cuz I'm such a bad influence. You really want me to meet your granddaughter? You have to know I'm not just--I mean--I'm a drug dealer."

Mike looks amused and says, "Are you going to sell drugs to my ten-year-old granddaughter?"

"What? No, of course not."

"Do you even have any drugs to sell?"

"No, I'm clean, I swear, but…"

"Jesse, look at me. You really think I'm going to let anything happen to my granddaughter?"

"No, but…" Jesse furrows his brows and trails off. He doesn't want to offend Mike, but he also doesn't understand.

"Look, kid, if you do try anything that would hurt my granddaughter, of course I'll have you in jail so fast it'll make your head spin. But I really don't think that's gonna be a problem. Do you?"

"No! No, I wouldn't… god, but just, are you sure you want her hanging out with somebody like me?"

"Jesse, stop thinking of yourself as a drug dealer and go get dressed. It'll be a good time. We'll have kettle korn."

"Okay," Jesse says. He picks clean clothes out of his backpack. He'd only grabbed some of his stuff from his house before his parents asshole movers had taken it, but at least now that he has his car back, he doesn't have to keep wearing Mike's castoff clothes. Then he goes back to the bathroom to shower. 

As he passes the kitchen, Mike says, "There's Tylenol in the medicine cabinet if you need any."

"Thanks," Jesse says. He swallows a few, and after a long, hot shower, Jesse feels a little better. He joins Mike in the kitchen and drinks more water.

"How do you feel?" Mike asks.

"Fine. Better."

"I know what you're doing isn't easy, Jesse. But you're doing the right thing."

"What?" Jesse asks, briefly afraid that last night he might have agreed to turn in Mr. White or something.

"Getting clean," Mike says. 

"Oh… yeah, I mean, it's… it's not… yeah," Jesse says. It's not like he's a junkie, not like some of the methheads he knows. He doesn't need to use, it would just be so nice if he could… but no. He feels very tired suddenly, even though he hasn't been awake for even an hour. 

After a pause, Mike says, "We'd better get going. Don't want to keep Kaylee waiting."

"Yeah, totally," Jesse says, still not convinced that this is a good idea.

Mike gives Jesse a half-smile and squeezes his shoulder. "You're doing fine, kid," he says, and heads outside. Jesse follows behind, desperately wanting to believe Mike's words.

When they pull up at Mike's granddaughter's house, a cute little girl runs out the door before Mike even turns the car off. She runs up to the passenger seat, sees Jesse, and opens the rear passenger door instead. "Hi Pop Pop! Who's this? Is he coming to the fair with us too?"

"Hi Junebug. This is my friend Jesse. Yes, he's coming with us today."

"Cool. Hi, Mr. Jesse."

"Uh, hi, Kaylee. You can just call me Jesse."

Kaylee hesitates and then says, "There's a girl in my class named Jesse."

"Yeah, I've known girl Jesses too. I guess it's just such a rad name that it wasn't fair for boys to keep it for themselves."

Kaylee giggles. "What if there was a boy named Kaylee?"

"He wouldn't be as pretty as you," Mike says, and Kaylee laughs again. She spends the rest of the car ride chattering about the names of various friends from school. By the time they get to the urban farm/park where the festival is held, Jesse feels a little more relaxed. 

The three of them slowly make their way around the festival. It's a crisp fall day, and the park is full of families. At first Jesse's sure that everyone must be staring at him and wondering what he's doing there, but no one seems to notice him.

He and Mike wait while Kaylee gets a butterfly painted on her face, and the face painter, whose T-shirt identifies her as a volunteer from Pi Beta Phi, asks Kaylee, "I bet your dad would like a butterfly on his face too, what do you think?"

Confused, Kaylee says, "My dad?"

The painter looks at Jesse and says, "Oops, sorry, I just assumed."

Kaylee says, "Ohh, you thought Jesse was my dad. No, he's just our friend. He'd look pretty silly with a butterfly on his face!"

The face painter says, "What do you think, Jesse? I'll give you one on the house--it'd be good advertising to have my work on a face like yours." She winks.

"Uh…"

"Then we'll be twins!" Kaylee says. "Kind of." She looks excited about the prospect.

"Yeah, sure," Jesse says. He takes Kaylee's place on the folding chair and tries to keep his face still while a pretty sorority girl paints a pink and purple butterfly on his cheek. Kaylee watches with great interest. He's _really_ not sure how his life got to this moment, and he hopes he doesn't see anyone he knows. But then, it's pretty unlikely that Badger and Skinny Pete would just head over to the harvest festival. It's not really their scene. 

"So you're her friend, huh?" the girl asks, studying her work.

"Um, yeah. Well, a friend of the family," Jesse says. 

"So… no kids of your own?"

"Uh, nope."

Her lips curve into a smile. She puts down her palette of face paints and says, "All done. Gorgeous." Then she scribbles her number on a festival flyer and passes it to Jesse with a wink. "In case you need any touch ups on that," she says.

"Uh, thanks," Jesse says, trying to smile back. The paint feels strange on his cheek. He folds the flyer up and shoves it in his pocket.

As they walk away, Kaylee says, "I think the face painter lady likes Jesse. Like, like-likes him."

"What's not to like?" Mike asks.

Jesse shakes his head. Mike elbows him and says, "See? I told you the harvest festival would be a good time."

"Yeah, totally," Jesse says. He knows he should be flattered, but honestly, like that sorority chick would be at all interested in Jesse if she knew what he really was?

When Jesse doesn't react to her teasing, Kaylee drops the topic of the face painting girl and asks for kettle korn. They get that, and apple cider, and Jesse has to admit he's enjoying himself. People are looking at him more often now that he has a butterfly on his face, but he senses that people assume he's either Kaylee's dad or brother, not that he's a terrible drug dealer there to ruin her life. It's pretty nice.

Then Kaylee gasps. "Look, Pop Pop, puppies!" The Humane Society has a big pet adoption booth set up at one corner of the festival.

"Your mom will kill me if I bring you home with a puppy, sweetie," Mike says.

"But can we just look?"

"Sure."

Jesse follows closely, and a Humane Society volunteer introduces them to a squirmy puppy. "This is Pepper," she says. "Do you want to hold her?"

"Okay," Jesse says. He'd always wanted a puppy when he was a kid, though his parents had never deemed him responsible enough for dog ownership. They were probably right about that. The puppy snuggles up against Jesse and licks his chin, and Jesse laughs. "What kind of dog is she?"

"Oh, she's a mutt. Our best guess is part lab, part beagle, part who knows what?"

"What kind of dog was her mom?" Kaylee asks.

"We don't know, sweetie. Somebody just found poor Pepper on the street and brought her to us."

"That's really sad."

"It is," the volunteer agrees. "But now she has a lot of new friends, and we're sure somebody will give her a forever home soon."

"I hope all the puppies get homes!"

"Me too," the volunteer says.

"Can I please hold her? I'll be _so_ careful," Kaylee says.

Jesse looks to the volunteer, who says, "Sure." Jesse passes Pepper over. He looks up and see that Mike is standing a few steps away, watching them with a smile. 

Then from behind Mike, Jesse hears a familiar voice say, "Skyler, the last thing we need is a puppy."

"I'm not saying we'll take one home! I just want to look, Walt."

Jesse swallows and glances around. The Humane Society's booth is fenced in, and there's only one entrance and exit point. It's where Mr. White and his super pregnant wife just came in. Jesse quickly turns his back on Kaylee and the volunteer, pretending to be very interested in a crate full of kittens on a table along the back of the booth. 

After a long moment of kitten watching, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He stiffens and doesn't turn. Then he hears Mike's voice say, "You okay, kid?"

"Uh, yeah, I just… um, these kittens are super cute."

Mike clears his throat. "Jesse, I saw your face. What happened?"

"There's just somebody here who I didn't want to see," Jesse mumbles.

"Ah." Mike looks around and says, "I think I see who you mean." 

Jesse's heart sinks. Then, to his surprise, Mike puts an arm around Jesse's shoulders and gently propels him away from the kittens. 

"It's okay, kid," Mike says. He guides Jesse out of the booth, apparently able to navigate a path away from the Whites. Jesse's still not sure if Mr. White saw him when they first came in, though. And he's still not sure how much Mike knows about Mr. White. Enough to not question Jesse wanting to get away from him, apparently.

Kaylee joins them outside the booth and says, "Couldn't we stay longer? I didn't get to look at all the animals."

"It was a little too crowded in there, Junebug," Mike says. "Maybe next weekend we can just go to the Humane Society."

"That would be fun! Can Jesse come too?"

"Sure," Mike says. "If Jesse wants to."

"Yeah, totally. I love puppies."

"Yay!"

"Okay, sweetie, how about if you go pick out your pumpkin, and then it'll be just about time to go home."

"Okay," Kaylee says, sounding resigned. "Jesse, will you come help me pick one out?"

"Sure."

Mike leans against the pumpkin patch fence and watches Jesse and Kaylee study a variety of pumpkin options.

"Look at this one! It's got like, warts on it. You could make it into a witch or something," Jesse says.

"No, that one's ugly. I just want a regular one. No offense."

"Whoa, look how huge this one is!" 

"That one's _too_ big. Pop Pop says I have to be able to carry it myself, after what happened last year."

"What happened last year?"

"Um, I kind of dropped my pumpkin, and got pumpkin guts everywhere."

"Oh, bummer."

"Yeah," Kaylee says with a sigh. "But we got another pumpkin, so it was okay. What do you think about this one?" she asks, holding up a pumpkin.

"It's pretty cool," Jesse says. "Do you think it's the _best_ one, though?"

"I dunno. There's so many."

"Well, let's put that one on, like, the short list, and keep looking for a little while longer. You wouldn't want to give up on finding your perfect pumpkin, would you?"

"Okay," Kaylee says. After a few more minutes, she finds one partially covered by leaves and vines. "Oh! _This_ one is perfect," she says, proudly holding it up to Jesse.

"I think you're right, Kaylee." 

Jesse follows her back up to the front of the patch, where Mike pays for Kaylee's pumpkin. Then they walk back to Mike's car together.

Kaylee carefully places her pumpkin in the backseat. "That was really fun today! Thanks, Pop Pop," she says, throwing her arms around her grandfather. "And thanks, Jesse," she adds, surprising Jesse with a hug of his own.

"You're welcome, Junebug," Mike says. 

"I had fun too. I mean, I got this dope butterfly, right?" Jesse says, pointing at his face.

Kaylee laughs. "Yeah! And we saw all those cute puppies." She talks about the puppies the whole way back to her house. A woman, presumably Kaylee's mom, comes out to the porch to greet them, and Jesse sees her look at him with a puzzled expression. Mike gets out and helps Kaylee with her pumpkin. He says something to the woman, who nods and looks less concerned. Mike obviously hadn't just told her that Jesse's a homeless drug dealer who's crashing with him. Kaylee waves at Jesse and disappears into the house, followed by her mother.

When Mike gets back in the car, Jesse expects to have to talk about Mr. White. Instead, Mike just says, "See? Everybody loves a good harvest festival."

"Yeah," Jesse says. "Thanks for… for this. For everything."

"Thanks for not selling my granddaughter any meth."

Jesse coughs. "Yeah, any time." He's still waiting for the other shoe to drop down on him, but he can't deny that today has been really nice. Nicer than Jesse deserves, he knows, and he makes a quiet promise to himself to become the kind of person who deserves nice days at harvest festivals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went from "prostitution AU" to "nice day at the fair AU" _remarkably_ quickly, sorry not sorry ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Sitting at his kitchen table, Mike drinks his coffee and pretends to look at the Monday crossword puzzle. He casts occasional glances at Jesse, who's looking nervous, but presentable. "You want me to go down to the office with you?" Mike asks.

Jesse fidgets and says, "Uh, no, thanks, I should--I can do it."

Mike nods. "Remember, kid, they really want to help you. Just be honest with them." He takes another sip of coffee and adds, "But maybe not _too_ honest."

Jesse doesn't laugh. He looks almost as miserable as he had the night Mike had met him. Maybe moreso, since at least Jesse had been high then. He knows that getting clean is rough on Jesse, that the decision to turn over a new leaf can't be an easy one, and that Jesse must still be worried about Heisenberg. Mike's worried, too, and he's still holding out hope that if he can help Jesse get settled in a new life, he won't be as afraid to come out against Albuquerque's notorious drug lord. 

Mike pats Jesse's hand. "Relax, kid. You're gonna have all the social workers eating out of your hand." Jesse furrows his brows into one of the most skeptical expressions Mike's ever seen, and he can't help but laugh. "I'm serious, Jesse. Most of the people they meet with… well, let's just say their prospects aren't as good as yours."

"That's depressing," Jesse says morosely.

"Jesse, you're young, you're smart, and you're gonna be okay. Trust me."

Jesse's skeptical expression fades somewhat, but not entirely. "If you say so," he says.

"And I do. Now, go on. It gives a good impression if you're early."

Jesse nods. "Okay. Yeah. Thanks." 

"You'll do fine. I'll see you for dinner."

"Okay," Jesse agrees. He does his dishes and heads out.

Mike returns to his crossword, but he's finding it harder than usual to concentrate. He'd meant what he said to Jesse--the kid's honestly in better shape than most of the people at the unemployment office. Even if Mike hadn't called in some favors last week, he'd feel optimistic. But he feels more nervous about the Heisenberg thing than he has about anything in awhile. It's not even his case, but it's still his duty to report evidence if he encounters it. Mike knows that.

But Mike's been a cop for a long time, and he still stubbornly believes he can trust his gut. He's sure Jesse is going to be key in this investigation, and he's equally sure Jesse's not going to do anything unless he feels safe. Mike had seen Jesse's face on Saturday, when they'd run into Walter White at the harvest festival. Jesse doesn't have a good poker face, and he'd been terrified of the other man. 

One more week, Mike promises himself. If Jesse doesn't want to come forward after another week, then Mike's going to have to stop being the nice cop. Until then, he's going to discreetly poke around a bit more and see what else he can find out about Walter White. 

As it happens, he doesn't have to try that hard. That afternoon at the station, they have a big staff meeting. It had been on Mike's calendar all month, but he'd either forgotten or had never heard the topic of discussion: a couple DEA guys are there to bring them up to speed on the Heisenberg investigation. They go through a slideshow featuring maps of distribution, bullet points about the purity of the blue meth, and photos of dead and missing dealers and informants. They look so young. Mike writes their names in his notepad, although he already has most of this information back at his desk.

Agent Schrader says, "We want to emphasize that this should be a top priority for all of us, even if you're not directly working with the drug task force. Heisenberg is bad news, and the sooner we can get him off the streets, the better. It shouldn't be about who can take credit for it--it should be about us working together. We know you fine men and women in blue are out there on the streets every day. Maybe you pick up a dealer or a hooker with some of the blue stuff. We need to know where they got it from. That's important. Whatever you can do to get information out of those scumbags--do it."

His partner, Agent Gomez, clears his throat and says, "Within reason."

Schrader shrugs. "Yeah, yeah, within reason."

The meeting winds down, and Schrader passes out his card to everyone, urging them to share any information that might be at all useful. Mike takes one with a polite nod. Then he goes back to his desk and calls Jesse. He doesn't answer, and Mike leaves a quick message saying, "It's Mike. Just wanted to see how your appointment went. Call me back when you get a chance."

Then he calls Kendra, the unemployment career counselor Jesse had met with. He knows she's busy and he doesn't expect her to answer right away, but she does. He says, "Kendra, it's Mike. I was just calling to see how Jesse Pinkman's appointment with you went." This isn't unusual; when he manages to convince someone to take advantage of social services, he usually tries to follow through. It's not unheard of for kids to swear up and down that all they want is a job and then bail on their appointments. He's not surprised Jesse showed up, but he's glad.

Kendra says, "Mike! Yes, he came right on time. Cute as a button, isn't he?"

"If you say so."

"And I do. We actually found something for him that'll start next week."

"That's great."

"Yes! You know Hankins Construction? They're very big on hiring from homeless, especially young men who come so highly recommended. It's a two-week probationary offer, but as long as he shows up sober, I imagine they'll keep him around."

"Great. Thanks, Kendra. I appreciate it."

"No problem. You keep on sending me kids like that and I'll be a happy camper."

Mike hangs up his desk phone and feels his anxiety lessen somewhat. If Jesse has a job, a real one, he'll be less likely to return to drugs, and more likely to cooperate with the police. Though of course, there are still other factors to consider.

With that in mind, Mike turns to his computer and starts digging deeper into Walter White. He learns some unpleasant facts. On Saturday he'd seen the man's pregnant wife, and now he knows that he's dying of lung cancer. It's of course very sad--but it could also explain this sudden descent into the criminal underworld. 

Then there's the fact that the man's brother-in-law turns out to be none other than Agent Hank Schrader. Is Schrader covering up for him? Or can he possibly be ignorant of the fact that the man he's allegedly focusing all available resources on finding is his own brother-in-law? Mike thinks backs to the man's intensity at their staff meeting and concludes that perhaps he doesn't know. After all, people can easily turn a blind eye to their loved ones. Which brings Mike back to the possibility that he's the one who's wrong about Heisenberg. That it's not Walter White, it's Jesse Pinkman. 

The thought makes Mike's stomach turn. He's self-aware enough to know that on some level, his attachment to Jesse is an attempt to compensate for mishandling his son's struggles with addiction. But he knows, too, that Jesse is not his son, that kindnesses to Jesse will not repair the rift between Mike and his son. He knows that no matter how sweet Jesse was with Kaylee, he could still be a drug kingpin. He knows that cracking this case could only mean good things for Mike's career--for starters, he'd almost certainly get to stop working the prostitution beat. Most importantly, he knows that Heisenberg is dangerous, and needs to be stopped before he hurts more people. 

Mike knows all of this, but he still can't quite bring himself to do anything about it. It's a pattern he recognizes from a long history of interviewing victims and reluctant accomplices. They'd known something was wrong, but just couldn't bring themselves to do anything about it. Not until it was too late.

He sighs and closes White's file. One week, he reminds himself. He'll give Jesse a week before he takes action, and he'll just have to hope that that won't be too late.

Mike still has an hour or so before he's supposed to take a dinner break, and then he's on patrol for the rest of the evening. He pulls up a case he needs to follow up on. He needs a formal statement from a witness. He calls her to confirm the address, gets his tape recorder and the forms he'll need ready, and goes out to his car. Just after he buckles himself in, he feels his cell phone vibrating. He pulls it out and sees that it's Jesse calling. 

Mike says, "Hello?" For a long moment, all Mike hears is static, and he wonders if the call dropped. "Hello? Jesse?"

Then he hears Jesse take a deep breath and say, shakily, "Um, Mike, could you please… uh, I could really… use some help right now."


	8. Chapter 8

Jesse desperately wishes he could remember any games besides "peekaboo." He's getting bored of it, and he suspects this kid is too. Mostly when Jesse was a kid, he'd played video games, or just done drawings. What else do little kids do for fun? Maybe he could think better if his head weren't _killing_ him.

Still, he sits on the front steps and keeps playing peekaboo, because if he doesn't, he's afraid the kid will go back in his busted house and see some shit he won't be able to un-see. He hopes Mike will get here soon. Mike will know what to do. 

"Hey, buddy, what's your name?" Jesse asks. He wonders if maybe he's got like, a rapport with the kid, maybe he'll talk now. But the kid just covers his face again. Jesse sighs and returns to the game. After an interminable amount of time, he uncovers his face and sees Mike standing in front of them with a confused expression. "Jesse? Are you okay? Who's your friend?"

Jesse swallows. He stands up and and whispers urgently, "Mike, you have to get this kid out of here."

Mike looks down at the filthy child, still pantsless and draped in a blanket, and says, "Who is he?"

Jesse shakes his head. "I--I don't know, really. His parents are--" He stops. He's not really sure how much this kid understands him. He'll have to find out the truth eventually, but Jesse doesn't think he needs to be the one to tell him, not like this. "I--I'll explain, but, please, I think this kid probably needs to see a doctor or something, and I don't--"

Mike squats down in front of the kid and says, "Is this your house?"

The kid nods, and Jesse says, "He's not like, super chatty. Mike, _please_... hey, buddy, we'll be right back." He remembers childhood games of hide and seek and says, "Can you count to a hundred while we're gone? Do you know… numbers?"

The kid shrugs.

"Well, um, count as high as you can, okay?"

Another shrug.

Jesse gestures for Mike to follow him toward the street, several feet away from the kid, who's sitting quietly and staring into space. "Mike, that kid's dad is dead in there, and his mom is passed out or something, and I didn't know what to do, and--" his breath hitches, and he feels his eyes fill with tears. He's so done with this, with everything.

Mike squeezes his shoulder and says, "Okay. Okay. What happened? Is it safe to stay here?"

"I… I mean probably for a while, I don't know. When that lady wakes up she's gonna be pissed."

"Jesse, how did that man in there die? Are you sure he's dead? Why didn't you call an ambulance?"

"He, um." Jesse closes his eyes. "His wife, or whatever, she… dropped an ATM on his head. He's… like, way dead."

Mike doesn't laugh. Jesse supposes Mike's probably seen weirder shit during his years as a cop. "... Okay," Mike says. "And the woman?"

"She just like passed out. She was pretty fucked up."

"I take it they're not friends of yours, if you don't know their names?"

Jesse sniffs and shakes his head, then winces. "No. God, no."

"Jesse, I gotta ask, what were you doing here?"

It's the last thing Jesse wants to explain to Mike, but he knows he has to. "I. Um. I--look, I told Mr. White we were done, like, so done, but he called and told me he needed me to do one more thing for him, and he said if I didn't do it he was going to turn me in to his DEA agent brother-in-law, and I didn't--I didn't think--I didn't think it would be like this," Jesse says, tears finally escaping his eyes and running down his face.

"Oh, _Jesse_ ," Mike says. 

"So, um, but, well, I don't know, one of them knocked me out I guess," Jesse says, rubbing the back of his head, "I don't really remember, exactly, except then when I woke up I was kinda out of it, and there was a knife? And then I saw what she was gonna do but I couldn't stop it, and, and…"

"Okay, Jesse. Okay."

"And the kid, god, Mike, they didn't even really have any good food in there for him or anything, he can't _stay_ here."

Mike sighs. "Okay, Jesse. Here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna check out the scene in there and call for social services and an ambulance. This kid is probably get put into emergency foster care. I'm gonna file a report about this and take this woman into custody. Then you and I are gonna talk, and you're gonna give me a statement about all of this. A nice, long one. Okay?"

Jesse nods and keeps his head bent forward contritely. Mike takes a step closer and says, "Actually, maybe you need medical attention first."

"I'm okay. Just, my head kinda hurts."

"You said somebody knocked you out. Could be a concussion. That's a nasty bump. Look at me. How long were you out for?"

"Uh… I dunno. I don't really remember. Awhile, I guess." Jesse looks at Mike, who does that finger waving thing they do on TV. Jesse watches his finger go back and forth and sighs. He remembers Spooge ranting about how Jesse had probably given him a concussion, how he needed to see a doctor. He remembers the sounds Spooge's head had made when the ATM fell. "I'm... okay. I just… I'm just gonna sit down."

Jesse feels so shitty for bringing Mike into all of this. He knows Mike's going to arrest him after this, and Jesse knows that's what he deserves. But he'd been _so close_ to maybe having a nice life. Jesse puts his face into his hands and cries. Mike sits next to him on the curb and rubs his shoulder.

Mike says, "It's gonna be okay, kid."

"I'm sorry," Jesse says, catching his breath. "I just wanted…"

"What did you want?"

"I just wanted it to be over. I wanted… I wanted to be good."

Mike's hand stills on Jesse's shoulder, and he squeezes it. "I know," he says. Then he stands up and says, "I need to check out the scene inside the house and make those calls. Are you gonna be okay out here with the little guy?"

Jesse wipes his face on his sleeve and nods. 

"Okay. I'll be right inside if you need anything." 

Jesse settles back on the stairs, next to the kid, who smiles. Jesse notices a big beetle on the ground. He picks it up and holds it out to the kid. "Cool, huh?"

The kid smiles, but says nothing. Before long, a cop car pulls up in front of the house, lights flashing. Two uniformed officers get out. They glance at Jesse, but Mike comes out and ushers them into the house.

Jesse and the kid are still sitting in awkward silence. He has a burst of inspiration and says, "Yo, did you ever play I Spy?"

The kid shakes his head no, and Jesse explains, "Like, I say, I spy with my little eye something… green, and then you have to guess green stuff, until you guess what I'm thinking of. You wanna play that?"

The kid shrugs, and Jesse says, "Okay. So… uh, like I said, I spy with my little eye something green." After a long pause, Jesse prompts, "So you have to guess stuff. Green stuff."

Another shrug, and Jesse says, "Uh… do you know what color green is?" He wonders if this kid has been to kindergarten, and he doubts it. Apparently he hadn't been able to even watch Sesame Street or anything with that busted TV. Jesse's rallying his mental energy to figure out how to explain the concept of the color green, when a green car with the CYFD logo on it pulls up in front of the house. Children, Youth, and Families Department. Thank god, Jesse thinks.

A middle-aged Latina lady gets out of the car and approaches them. She looks tired, but nice. She crouches down in front of them and says, "Hi, I'm Melina."

"Uh, I'm Jesse, and this is… um."

"Nice to meet you, Jesse." she says, her eyes taking in the situation. She smiles at them kindly and says, "Sweetie? What's your name?"

"Jake," the kid says, and Jesse flinches. Of course, it's a pretty common name, but still, the thought of Jesse's little brother in a house like this makes him want to puke.

"Hello, Jake," Melina says. She sounds nice, like how a mom is supposed to sound. Not like Spooge's lady. "Is Officer Ehrmantraut here?"

"Yeah, um, he's inside the house," Jesse says.

"Excuse me, I'll need to check in with him. I'll be right back. Okay?"

"Okay," Jesse says. Jake's still quiet. After a moment, Jesse says, "See, like, the grass is green. And leaves are green. And the car is green. See how they're the same color?" 

While Jesse's trying to figure out another way to explain it, an ambulance comes. Its sirens were off--apparently they weren't in a hurry. Jesse directs them into the house, too, though he knows for a fact that Spooge is totally dead, no matter what they do. Then Mike, Melina, and one of the paramedics come back out of the house.

Melina bends down and says firmly, "Jake, we're going to go get you something to eat. Does that sounds good?"

Jake nods.

"Good. Come with me." 

Jake stands up, still wearing his blanket, and looks back at Jesse questioningly. Jesse smiles and says, "You go with Miss Melina, okay, Jake? She's a nice lady."

Jake waves goodbye. Jesse waves back and says, "You have a nice rest of your life, kid." He watches Melina get Jake buckled into the backseat of her car and drive off.

To the EMT, Mike says, "Check this kid out, will you? He was knocked unconscious earlier, seems to have some missing memories."

Jesse sighs. "I'm fine."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" the EMT asks, and since she's pretty, Jesse says, "Fine."

She brings him into the back of the ambulance and looks at his head. She does the finger thing. She asks him how he was injured and how long he was unconscious for. All the same stuff Mike did. She cleans and bandages his wound and says, "You're definitely concussed. We should really bring you in to the ER for a CT scan. It sounds like you were out for awhile, and there could be some damage."

Jesse shakes his head. "No, I'm fine."

The EMT's lips thin and she says, "Are you sure? Do you have a headache? Are you seeing stars?"

"Um, just a headache, but it's like… not that bad or anything."

"Have you vomited?"

"No. I'm _fine_."

"So you're refusing care?"

"Um, yeah, I guess."

"Are you over 18?"

"Yeah."

She looks at him critically for a moment and says, "I need to see ID." 

"What? Why?"

"If you're a minor, you can't refuse care on your own behalf."

Jesse sighs and hands over his ID, glad he'd managed to get his wallet back from the methheads, and suddenly aware that he still has a gun in his hoodie.

She studies it closely and says, "Fine." Then she gets a clipboard, hands it to Jesse and says, "Fill this out and sign here, then, to show that I offered you emergency care and you declined."

Jesse fills out the form. She takes it and says, "Take care, then. Don't take aspirin or any blood thinners. If your head hurts, only take acetaminophen. Tylenol. And promise me you'll go in to the ER if you start feeling worse. 

"Okay, I promise."

"People act like concussions are no big deal, but they can be very serious."

"Okay, I get it already." 

The EMT gives him a skeptical look, and Mike says, "I'll take care of him."

She asks Mike, "You know him?" Mike nods, and she says, "Tell his parents or whoever to keep an eye on him. If he starts getting migraines, or vomiting, or showing signs of memory problems, impaired brain function, or fatigue, he'll need to come in to the ER as soon as possible."

Mike says, "Okay."

Jesse says, "Thanks."

Mike says, "Jesse, why don't you go wait in my car?"

"Okay."

Mike walks him over to it and lets him in the front passenger seat, so at least he's not arrested. Yet. "Just hang tight, Jesse, this part's almost over. You did the right thing when you called me." 

Jesse sits in the car, drumming on the dashboard in an attempt to get rid of some of his anxiety. He checks his phone and is unsurprised to see it's blown up with missed calls and messages from Mr. White. He puts the phone away without checking any of them. His head feels like shit, and he's still horrified by what he saw inside Spooge's house. But more than anything, he's dreading having to tell Mike the story. It seems like they're taking forever in there. It's not like they have to go all CSI to figure out what happened. It should be pretty obvious.

Eventually, though, the ambulance and other police car drive off, and Mike returns to his car. He says, "How do you feel, Jesse? Are you sure you don't need to go to the ER?"

"Yeah, totally."

"Totally… what?"

"Oh. Um. I'm totally fine."

"Okay, well, you're not, but I'm not gonna drag you to the doctor if you don't wanna go."

"Okay."

Mike sighs and starts his car. He says, "I don't think you're good to drive right now. We'll come back for your car later."

"Fine," Jesse says. He's surprised when they pull up at Mike's house. "Um. I thought we were going…"

"What, now you want to go to the ER?"

"No, I mean… I thought you… I mean, I thought I was arrested? You said…"

"I said you were going to have to make a statement about what happened, Jesse. I don't think there's a reason to take you into police custody. Is there?"

"Um..."

"Let's talk about this inside."

Jesse follows Mike and quietly sits at the kitchen table. Mike takes a long look at him before bringing him a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water. "Thanks," Jesse says, and he gratefully takes three of them.

Mike says, "You hungry? I'll make a frozen pizza."

"Not really." Jesse feels nauseous. He thinks maybe that's from his headache. He's nervous about telling Mike the truth, but now that it's about to happen, he feels like maybe it'll be a relief to get this off his chest.

"Suit yourself," Mike says, and he preheats the oven. Then he puts a tape recorder on the table and says, "Okay. Jesse, I need to know the truth. The whole story. What were you doing at that house?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Astute readers might have noticed that I mentioned Combo being dead a few chapters ago, which canonically happened after the whole Spooge thing... well, look, it's because this is a PARALLEL UNIVERSE and totally not because I've been making this up as I go along >_>
> 
> (Things here are different.)
> 
> K bye, thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

Mike turns the tape recorder on and looks at Jesse intently. Jesse drops his eyes to the table. Mike prays to god that the unpleasantness at the meth den is the last straw, that Jesse will tell him what he needs to know. After a long silence, he says, "This is gonna go a lot easier on you if you cooperate."

Jesse sighs. "Yeah. Uh… I just… I don't know where to start."

"How about today? Just tell me what you were doing at that house this afternoon."

Jesse licks his lips says, "Okay. Um. Mr. White called me? He said that he… saw me with you, and he knew you were a cop, and he didn't know what I thought I was doing, but that if I ever tried to turn him in, nobody would believe me over him."

"Turn him in for what?" Mike asks, for the benefit of the tape recording.

"For, um. For cooking crystal." Jesse chews his lip. "And I said, that I wasn't, that I wasn't going to turn him in, but that I just didn't want to do it anymore, and you were helping me. To get a job. And stuff. And he said, um, that I was an idiot, and obviously you were just doing it to get to him. And he said, um, that he understood that I said I was done, but he needed me to do one more thing for him, and it was the least I could do for him. And if I didn't, then he was going to turn me in to his DEA agent brother-in-law, and say that I did everything, and like, obviously who's he going to believe, right?"

Mike says, "I believe you, Jesse. Go on."

Jesse rubs his forehead. "So--did I already say, um, that Skinny Pete got robbed?"

"No. Who?"

"Um, my friend, Skinny Pete? He's, um, he's a dealer? He's… he's like… he's Skinny Pete? And he got robbed. So he owed Mr. White money. So Mr. White said if I went and got it back, from those methheads who robbed him, then we'd be square. And I--I mean, I know Mr. White's just trying to save money for his family, for after he bites it. And I--I just--I did it. Or, um, I tried, but then I got there, and there was that _kid_ , and I--I don't super remember everything?" Jesse rubs his head again, and Mike feels a twinge of worry. It seems like Jesse's more scattered than usual, which is saying something. Still, he's conscious and willing to talk. He'll keep an eye on Jesse and take him to the ER if need be.

Jesse rambles on, "But, oh, so, there was an ATM, that they stole, I guess? And they were gonna give me money for, for Mr. White, from that, but… oh, yeah, they couldn't get it open. And the guy was trying to open it, and…" Jesse shakes his head and trails off, an anguished expression on his face.

"Okay, I think I get the picture. So now tell me, how did you and Walter White get into business together?"

"He, um. Well, he was my chemistry teacher, from high school? God, I hated that class so much, all those like, equations and shit? Ugh. But. Um. He saw me, when the DEA busted Emilio, I was there but I ran away? But he saw me and then he came to my house and he told me that if I didn't teach him how to cook crystal, he was gonna turn me in to the DEA."

"Uh huh."

"And then I was… we were partners," Jesse sighs. "He figured out how to make the blue meth, with, um, methylamine, and like, chemistry."

Mike snorts at that, and Jesse says, "I mean, I dunno. I showed him the basics, like how Emilio showed me, but… Mr. White is like, a genius."

Mike has his doubts about that, but he presses Jesse for details about how, where, and how much they cooked. Jesse tells him as much as he can. Mike suspects his vagaries are things Jesse genuinely doesn't know. Finally, he says, "Okay. So aside from teaching him the basic recipe for meth, what was your role in this partnership?"

"Um, distribution, I guess. You know. Selling. A-and I was the one who introduced him to Tuco. And I helped cook, too."

The oven beeps, and Mike puts a frozen pizza in it. Jesse might say he's not hungry, but Mike is, and he figures Jesse'll probably eat if Mike puts something in front of him. "Okay. Let's go back to your friend Emilio. What happened to him?"

Jesse's eyes fill with tears and he says, "Mr. White killed him. And the--and--and I dissolved him in some kind of acid or something. It was…" He sniffles. "It was so fucked up. But, like, his cousin was gonna kill us, though, so it was self defense. Right?"

"Tell me how it happened," Mike says.

"I--I was actually knocked out when it happened, so I didn't, like, see it?" Jesse admits, but he tells, in graphic detail, an insane story about poison gas in the desert and a guy named Krazy-8 in Jesse's basement. Mike supposes White must really know his chemistry, if nothing else. Then Jesse tells him about trying to deal with Tuco Salamanca, about his hospitalization, and about his narrow escape in Mexico. "It really sucked," Jesse concludes. 

Mike nods, feeling a little swell of protective feeling for Jesse. From what Mike knows of Tuco Salamanca, the kid's lucky to be alive. The timer goes off and Mike pulls the pizza out of the oven, but he finds that he's lost his appetite. While he's up, he brings Jesse a roll of paper towels.

Jesse wipes his face and keeps talking in circles, eventually bringing up Walter White's cancer, and the fact that White had started going by Heisenberg to deal with Tuco. He's giving Mike everything he needs and then some. Eventually, he winds down and stares off into space, his arms hugged around himself.

Mike flicks off the tape recorder, puts it in his jacket pocket, and says, "Get up, Jesse."

Jesse nods mutely and stands up. "Oh, wait," he says, and pulls a gun out of his sweatshirt. Mike had noticed it in his pocket earlier that day, but honestly forgotten about it in the midst of everything else. Jesse sets it on the table, eyes cast downward.

"Jesus, Jesse," Mike says. "You didn't use that today, did you?"

Jesse shakes his head. "No, and I swear, I wasn't gonna--I just thought I could maybe, like, intimidate them with it? But, uh, it didn't…. didn't really work. Obviously."

Mike looks down at it. "Am I correct in assuming this was not acquired legally?"

Jesse nods. 

Mike says, "All right. Well… we'll deal with this later." He picks it up and looks it over. At least the safety's on, but it's still loaded. He unloads the bullets and puts everything into an empty Albertson's bag, which he puts in his closet.

"I'm really sorry," Jesse whispers.

"I know," Mike says, and he drives Jesse to the emergency room. 

When he realizes where they are, Jesse says, "Yo, are you--am I still not arrested?"

"Jesse. Look, I already told you, you're not under arrest. Today? As far as my report says-- you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And you received a head trauma, for which you need medical attention."

"Nuh uh, I'm fine," Jesse says petulantly.

"I promised the EMT I'd take care of you. You gonna make me a liar?"

"I'm _fine_. I've been hit worse than this before."

"Okay. Look. You can go to the emergency room, or if that's what you want, I'll take you down to the station and I _will_ book you, and then you'll have to see the nurse at the jail."

"Ugh, whatever," Jesse says, but he follows Mike inside. Mike helps Jesse fill out the paperwork, and then they wait. Mike regrets not eating pizza while he had the chance, because it takes hours before they're seen. Jesse keeps spacing out. Mike thinks back to some of the stories Jesse had already told him. He wouldn't be surprised if the kid already had some kind of brain damage.

Eventually, they're seen by a nurse who interviews Jesse for a few minutes and tells him he'll need a CT scan, and they wait longer for that. Finally, they meet with a doctor who explains there's some mild swelling, but nothing to be too terribly concerned about at the time being. 

She says, "The best cure is just to rest. The brain is resilient, it can bounce back from something like this as long as you don't get another injury in the next few days. I'd recommend that you just get some sleep. I can admit you overnight for monitoring, or I can clear you to go home if your dad can wake you up every few hours to check on you."

"My dad doesn't care if I die," Jesse says, his speech slightly slurred.

The doctor gives Mike an accusing look and says, "I'm sure that's not true."

Mike says, "I'm not his dad. I'm a friend. I can do that."

"Oh. I see. Well, then, yes, just check on him every few hours, wake him up fully. If he doesn't wake up easily, or if any of his symptoms get worse, bring him back in. No aspirin or any blood thinners. Just Tylenol. Any questions?"

"See, I told you I was fine," Jesse says.

"Well, you're not fine," the doctor corrects him. "You need to rest and let your brain recover from this injury."

"Whatever," Jesse says.

"I'll make sure he rests," Mike promises, and they check out of the emergency room.

In the car, Jesse says, "See? Waste of time. And money. I'm fine."

"I was concerned. And the doctor said you're not fine."

Jesse sighs heavily. "No, look, I get it, it sucks if your witness dies."

Mike pulls off to the side of the road, hazard lights blinking. Jesse looks over at him, eyes wide. Trying to keep his voice calm, Mike looks at him and says, "Kid, knock it off it with that. You think I let every potential witness stay at my house?" 

"I dunno."

"Well, I definitely do not."

Jesse shrugs. "Okay, so… why? I mean, I'm just a worthless junkie."

Mike hesitates. It's hard for him to explain even to himself, let alone to Jesse. Finally, he says, "You're not worthless. You're a good kid, Jesse. I got a sense about these things."

"Your sense is busted, then."

"Nope. Yours is."

"What?"

"I don't know what happened to make you think all you were good for was selling drugs--now that I've heard your story, I'm guessing Walter White had something to do with it--but you're a good kid. Think about this afternoon. How many people would have waited there with that little kid?"

Jesse shrugs. "Anybody."

"No, Jesse, _not_ anybody. Trust me. You could have just taken the money and run. But you didn't."

"Whatever."

"It's not whatever. Look, Jesse, I put my ass on the line for you just because I had a gut feeling about you. I wanted to help you. I _like_ you. And I had no _idea_ you were tangled up with Heisenberg when we first met. How dare you suggest I'm only interested in your well-being because I want you to be a witness? A witness for a case I'm not even assigned to? That's downright insulting, to both of us."

"Oh. Sorry." Jesse's quiet for a long moment. Finally he says, sleepily, "I guess I never thought about it like that. I--I told Mr. White you were helping me, and he said I was an idiot for trusting you, and he's smarter than me."

"I dunno, Jesse, he sounds like a real jackass to me."

"Yeah, no, he is."

Mike laughs. "Okay, then," he says, and starts the car up again. At home he gives Jesse more Tylenol and says, "Go to sleep, Jesse. You need to rest."

"Okay," Jesse agrees, apparently too tired to argue, which is itself a little alarming at this point. Jesse changes clothes and curls up on the couch. "Thanks, Mike," he says softly.

"Just get some rest, will you?"

Jesse mumbles something into the couch. Mike turns off the light and goes back to the kitchen where he eats some cold pizza, makes himself a cup of coffee, and starts playing back Jesse's tape and making notes from it. It's a truly bananas story, and he knows there's not a lot of evidence to back this up at the moment, but it does corroborate what Mike already knows about the case. He's sure Jesse's telling the truth. He also doesn't think this tape itself is going to be great in court--the kid sounds real loopy there at the end of it--but it's an important symbol of Jesse's cooperation. 

Now that Jesse's willing to talk, Mike knows the kid will be a great witness. His remorse is apparent, unlike a lot of the snitches they get. He's young and white, and he'll go over well with the average juror. And most importantly, he knows plenty about Heisenberg.

Per doctor's orders, Mike wakes Jesse up every few hours. Each time, Jesse sits up and whines, "I'm totally fine."

"Good," Mike says, relieved each time. The more he replays that tape, the more surprised he is that Jesse is still alive at all, and the more infuriated he is at Walter White. He can't wait to bust this guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know canonically Jesse apparently bounces back just fine from getting knocked out at Spooge's house, but that is far from being homeboy's first head injury and, y'know, those can take a toll on you. *gently pats Jesse's head*
> 
> (Also: ~parallel universe.~)


	10. Chapter 10

Jesse wakes up to Mike tapping his shoulder and saying, "Jesse, wake up."

He moans and says, "I'm totally fine."

"Good." 

Jesse stretches and says, "What time is it?"

"A little after 9."

"Oh." Jesse gets up and grabs more Tylenol.

"Your head still hurt?"

"Yeah, but it's better." Jesse rubs his forehead. "God, I fucked up so bad."

Mike smiles. "Could have been worse, kid."

"Guess so. Um. Thank you, Mike, I really… thanks."

"There's coffee, if you want."

"Yeah. Thanks." He pours himself a mug and says, "So, like, I'm still not arrested?"

"Still not arrested. We're gonna work out a deal for you. You've got a lot of valuable information for us. You're gonna be fine."

Jesse sighs. "Is it--I guess it's dumb, but I just--Mr. White's dying, you know? Can't he… what if he just… retires?"

"Retires… from being a meth kingpin?"

"Well. Yeah. I mean, it's really gonna fuck up his family… if he knew what was gonna happen, I'm sure he'd stop."

Mike shakes his head. "That's not how this tends to work, Jesse. You really think he's just gonna go back to teaching chemistry?"

Jesse shrugs. "It's just kinda sad to think about him spending his last months in jail or whatever. And what's gonna happen to his family?"

"They'll be okay, Jesse. They can get help from the same social services that helped you, Jesse. If his wife and son are innocent, which it sounds like they are, they can get all kinds of SNAP and WIC help. Probably other organizations will help out too."

"Mr. White would hate that," Jesse mutters.

"Well, he should have thought about that before he blackmailed his former student into teaching him how to cook meth."

"I mean, when you put it like that, it sounds kinda bad."

"It _is_ bad, Jesse! It's very bad."

Jesse looks down at his coffee. "I guess, it's just… I mean, Mr. White saved my life."

"After he endangered it, Jesse. He doesn't get credit for that."

"I--I mean I know it was his idea, but I mean…"

Mike holds up a hand and says, "Jesse. I know you feel loyalty to this man for some reason, but he has done very bad things. He needs to be brought to justice. A judge and jury will decide what that means, exactly."

"But _I've_ done very bad things!"

Mike nods. "You have made some mistakes, Jesse, I'll give you that. Big ones. But you've shown a desire to change. To rehabilitate. We can work with that. _If_ you cooperate."

"It just doesn't seem fair, is all. It's not like--it's not like Mr. White just brainwashed me into doing bad stuff."

Mike gives Jesse a long, piercing look. He looks tired and mad, which Jesse's used to seeing on adults' faces, but he also looks a little sad. Finally he says, "Maybe you've heard, Jesse, but life isn't fair. It sounds to me like you've had some bad breaks, and now I'm _trying_ to throw you a lifeline. Why won't you take it?"

Jesse shakes his foot anxiously. "I--I just--"

Mike sighs. "I'm on your side here, Jesse. I'll help you through this. Do you trust me?"

Jesse thinks about it for a moment and nods. No matter what Mr. White said, he does think he can trust Mike.

Mike nods back. "Okay. So, let's eat some Cheerios and then go down to the station. We'll get you a lawyer, and we'll get things going."

"What about Mr. White's brother-in-law? The DEA agent? He kind of hates me."

"Well, I have to be honest, I'm not sure how he's missed this. But my take is that he's an honest agent. I think we can persuade him. He and his partner have a lot of evidence for this case, and you can help them make sense of it. Whatever you two had in the past, he's gonna need to get over it. You both need to. You're on the same side now."

Jesse closes his eyes. It all makes sense. It just sucks. 

Mike says, "Jesse? We don't have to do this right now. If you're not feeling up to it, you can rest this morning. But you do need to do this. I've already got the tape you made last night, but things will go much better for you if you cooperate with us fully." He sounds concerned.

"I… " Jesse swallows. His memories of last night are a little blurry, but he knows he told Mike pretty much everything. "No, let's just… get it over with."

"Okay, Jesse. I'll be there with you, remember."

"Yeah. I--I'm gonna take a shower."

Mike nods and looks down at his crossword puzzle. Jesse showers, changes, and listens to his voicemails. He has a couple of angry messages from Mr. White, who wanted to know where his money is and what exactly Jesse thought he was doing. Then there's one from Skinny Pete, who said, "Yo, I heard about what you did to Spooge! Whoa, that's… whoa. Um, anyway, Heisenberg says that now we're supposed to expand our territory or something? Um… you know anything about that?"

Jesse wants to throw up his Cheerios. People think _he_ squashed Spooge's head in? And Mr. White wants to expand? Who's gonna be in charge of that if Jesse is out? Skinny Pete? Then what happens to Skinny Pete if he gets robbed again? 

Mike's still sitting at the kitchen table, but now he's in a police uniform. Apparently he's not undercover today. Even though Jesse knows Mike's alright, the sight of him in a blue uniform makes Jesse feel a little paranoid. He bites his lip and says, "Hey, uh, Mike? I think maybe you should, uh, listen to these messages?"

Mike takes Jesse's phone and listens intently, his brow furrowed. He hangs up and sets the phone down carefully. "Jesus, what a piece of work," he says. "Don't delete those. They'll be evidence."

"Yeah. Okay. Um, should I--call him back?"

"And say what, exactly?"

"I--I dunno," Jesse says helplessly. "That's why I asked you."

Mike doesn't exactly smile, but his face softens. "Okay, kid, okay. No, do not have any more contact, of any kind, with Walter White. Not until this investigation is resolved. Do you understand?"

Jesse nods. He knows it's for the best. Like, is he really gonna miss Mr. White yelling at him all the time? He'll miss the money, but at this point the money is all theoretical anyway. Surely it'll be better to have a regular paycheck that can't get seized as evidence?

"Good, Jesse," Mike says. 

After Mike takes Jesse to the police station, he leaves Jesse alone in a little windowless interrogation room. He returns a moment later with a newspaper and a styrofoam cup of coffee, which is pretty nice of him. Jesse spends a while trying to read it, but it's hard for him to focus on any of it. He wonders what the paper will say about Mr. White, after the truth comes out.

Then Mike brings in a public defender, a youngish lady with cool dreadlocks. She introduces herself as Michaela, and she smiles at Jesse and tells him to tell her everything, that they have attorney-client privilege and she just wants to help him. He does, and overall it comes out a lot smoother than it had last night, when he tried to tell Mike. He stops and cries when he gets to the part about Spooge and Spooge's kid, but Michaela's really nice about it. She hands him a tissue from her purse and says they can take a break if he wants.

She's recording the conversation, but she's also taking notes and asking occasional questions.

When Jesse's finally told her everything he can think of, she smiles. "This is very good information, Jesse. You're doing the right thing by coming in."

Jesse bites his lip and says nothing. He knows being a snitch is shitty, but… so is working with Mr. White.

Michaela holds out her hand and says, "It's nice to meet you, Jesse. I'm going to get you the best deal I can, okay?"

He shakes her hand and says, "Yeah, thanks." 

She leaves, and Jesse wonders if he's just supposed to wait here. He has to piss, but he's a little nervous about just wandering the halls of the station. He's pretty sure Mike is the only friend he has here. Luckily, only a few minutes pass before Mike comes back in, holding a brown paper bag. "How'd it go?"

Jesse shrugs. "Fine? Um, is there a bathroom I can use?"

"Of course," Mike says, and escorts him. Jesse glances around in the hallway, expecting to see people staring at him. But there aren't too many people around, and everyone seems to have other things to do.

Back in the little interrogation room, Mike says, "I brought sandwiches."

"Thanks." Jesse takes one and eats it slowly.

Mike says, "Michaela seemed happy."

"I guess I told her some good stuff."

"Guess so. How's your head?"

"Okay."

"You need more Tylenol?"

"Nah."

"You sure? This afternoon might be a little rough."

"Why?"

"Well, it's gonna be time to talk with some other people. Including Walter White's brother-in-law."

"Oh," Jesse says, and puts down his sandwich. 

"Now, look, don't worry about it. I'll be there, and so will your lawyer. You just have to tell the truth. You can do it."

"Yeah. Yeah, totally," Jesse says, wishing he had Mike's confidence. He tries to channel it when Mike takes him to a bigger room with a handful of people in it: Michaela, a APD cop he doesn't know, and Agents Schrader and Gomez. Jesse glances at them, and then down at the table.

Michaela says, "Well. My client is prepared to offer information regarding the identity of Heisenberg in exchange for a transactional--blanket--immunity."

Jesse looks up at that. Mike nods. 

Agent Schrader looks _pissed_. He says, "I thought you didn't know anything about crystal meth, you little shit."

Jesse nervously drums his fingers on the table. And then he remembers Agent Schrader grabbing his hands when he'd done the same thing over at the DEA office, and he stops. He shakes his foot instead. 

Michaela says, "We're not here to discuss that. At the time you refer to, it seems you both found no cause to hold my client."

Agent Schrader huffs at that, and Agent Gomez glances at him. Agent Gomez says, "How do we know he's telling the truth this time, though? Not exactly the most reliable witness."

Mike says, "I've already investigated parts of his story. It checks out."

Agent Gomez says, "Parts of it? We're supposed to give immunity for parts of a story?"

Michaela says, "Of course it's conditional on Mr. Pinkman's story proving factual."

"Which it will," Jesse says.

"Yeah, well, we've heard that from you before," Agent Schrader says.

"I--I know. I'm... I'm sorry," Jesse says. "This is… this is the truth, though. I'm just--I'm done with this. I don't want to work with him anymore. I can't."

"Who?" Agent Gomez asks.

Michaela clears her throat and hands over some papers. Agent Schrader says, "Fine, fine, we'll grant immunity if his story checks out." He looks them over and signs them. Jesse hasn't seen them, but he knows he probably wouldn't understand them anyway. Michaela takes the papers back and nods at Jesse.

Jesse bites his lip and glances at Mike and Michaela, who both nod at him encouragingly. He says, "I---for the last few months, I've been working to produce crystal meth with Walter White, also known as Heisenberg."

Agent Schrader stands up and says, "How dare you, you piece of--" Jesse scoots back away from the table, and Agent Gomez stands up and touches Schrader's arm. 

Mike says, "That's _enough_ , Agent Schrader." The edge in his voice is scary, and Jesse's glad Mike's never spoken to him like that.

Agent Schrader sits back down, still clenching his fists.

Jesse says, "Yeah, I-I know. I didn't believe it either, when Mr. White said he wanted to cook crystal, but, uh… it's true, I swear." Jesse tells his story. He's getting pretty good at telling it, since it's his third time through.

"Oh, Jesus," Schrader says, when Jesse finishes the part about escaping from Tuco. He looks a little nauseous--but he looks like he believes Jesse.

Jesse says, "Yeah, I didn't think his grocery store fugue state thing would work, but I guess it was easier to buy than the fact that he's, like, a drug dealer and all."

"It kinda does add up," Agent Gomez mutters. "I mean, the ridealong, the high school stuff, and the chemical purity…"

Agent Schrader crosses his arms and gives a very small nod.

Jesse tells them about the RV, and the equipment from the school, and he gives them the voicemails, and then he slumps forward in his chair, head in his hands. 

Michaela says, "Jesse, are you all right?"

"Yeah, sorry. It's just… a lot."

"Let me get you some water," she says. "I'll be right back." 

She hands him a bottle of water and he says, "Thanks," and then he tears up a little. He wishes he didn't cry so easily, but he's so tired, and it was really nice of her to get him water. He wipes his eyes.

Michaela says, "Why don't we just take a break?"

Jesse takes a deep breath. Agent Schrader looks at him, his expression no longer quite as hostile, and says, "We could probably call it a day. We've got a lot of information we need to investigate."

Softly, Agent Gomez says, "You're doing the right thing, Jesse."

Jesse nods. Agent Schrader says, "We've got your contact information from Officer Ehrmantraut here. We'll be in touch if we need more information from you. Don't leave town."

Jesse says, "Okay," as if he even has anywhere to go. 

After everyone else leaves, Mike says, "I'm proud of you, kid."

"Thanks," Jesse mumbles. "So, is… what happens now?"

"It's mainly a DEA case, because it crosses state lines, so, it's gonna be Schrader and Gomez. They'll check out your story and go from there. They'll get a warrant when they have enough evidence, and then it'll kind of be up to White's lawyers, but it'll probably go to trial."

"Oh," Jesse says. "So… how long will that take?"

"I imagine it'll be their top priority." Then Mike looks at him closely and says, "Don't worry, Jesse. We'll protect you. I'll protect you."

Jesse rubs his neck. "No, it's not--I mean, is Mr. White gonna be okay?"

Mike snorts. "Well, I imagine he'll probably do some time for this, Jesse. That's his problem, not your problem."

Jesse shrugs.

"Jesse, look. I guess it's gonna take some time for you to understand that this man was using you. I don't know how much clearer I can be about this: you should not feel bad about cooperating with a police investigation to get a dangerous criminal off the street. Not for one second."

"He's not dangerous, though, he's…" Jesse trails off, and Mike looks at him skeptically. "Okay, okay, yeah, it's just… it's hard."

"Okay, Jesse, I understand that. But think about it. You heard today that Heisenberg wants to expand his territory. Where do you think he's gonna stop? You think he's gonna give up now that he doesn't have you? I've been doing this job for a long time, and let me tell you: he'll just find somebody else and keep going, and the violence tends to escalate."

Jesse sighs. "Yeah. No, yeah, this is good." He wonders what Badger and Skinny Pete are gonna think. They'd never snitch. But they hadn't seen the messed up stuff Jesse had. They'd still be friends, right? If not, maybe Jesse could make new friends at his new job. Maybe things are gonna be better now.

"You hungry, kid?" Mike asks.

"Um… yeah, I guess."

"Let's go to Waffle House."

"Yeah, okay." 

Sitting at the slightly-sticky Waffle House table, Jesse thinks about the first night he'd met Mike. Mr. White had been _such_ an asshole to him, and Jesse had actually been willing to whore himself out to make things up to him. And Mike had totally saved his ass. It occurs to Jesse that now he's free from Mr. White, and maybe _he_ saved somebody else by turning in Mr. White. He probably saved Spooge's kid. He smiles a little to himself. 

Mike peers at him and says, "How do you feel? Your head okay?"

Jesse swallows his bite of waffle and says, "Yeah. Never better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Thanks so much to everyone who read & commented along the way! Especial thanks to falafelfiction & Chlo, who were the first to ask for a sequel to the original story, which I had meant to be a one-shot. Thanks to loves_music17 for the original prompt, which I… pretty much abandoned for all later chapters, sorry. I was just having too much fun with a world where Jesse Pinkman gets access to adequate social services and waffles ♥
> 
> This is the first time I've posted something chapter by chapter as a WIP, and it was pretty fun! Please forgive any errors, because this did not get as thoroughly edited and outlined as my stuff normally does. If you noticed any typos or anything like that, please feel free to point them out! If you noticed any continuity errors, please whisper "parallel universe" to yourself.
> 
> Also, I'm deliberately ending the story here because 1) I have no interest in writing a courtroom drama, 2) it feels like a solid place to end AU Jesse's redemptive arc, and 3) I want to give a slight "Choose Your Own Adventure" aspect to the ending. In my heart, after this, Walt gets arrested and goes to jail and Hank and Marie help Skyler out and Jesse stays clean and eventually moves out of Mike's house and into Jane's duplex and never sees Walt again (but probably still thinks about him, sometimes). But if you have more sympathy for Walt in your heart than I do, you're free to imagine that Walt hires Saul to represent him and somehow gets a plea bargain down to community service, or that Walt gets wind of this and escapes to Mexico with a clean passport, or whatever floats your boat :)


End file.
